


The Sociopath Society

by orphan_account



Series: The Sociopath Society [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: All that stuff, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mostly not beta read, Murder, Mystery, Teenlock, first fanfic, ish, sort of character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 31,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>St Bartholomew’s is the third boarding school Sherlock’s been sent to. It’s his last chance to get his act together or risk not going to university. Not that fifteen year old Sherlock cared about something as mundane as that. He was a genius, a cold emotionless genius. But everything changes when he meets John Watson. All those barriers he built up begin to disappear; all the emotions he deleted begin to come back. First gradually, then as a torrent. How could someone, albeit strangely handsome and perfect, make Sherlock feel these things. Make it into the heart Sherlock didn’t even know he had?<br/>But the school had dark secrets. Thieveries running through the years, murders that follow. All intricately connected. Put together by a mastermind. But time is running out. Sherlock has to solve the mystery, he knows he has to. After all he is a consulting detective. The only one in the world.<br/>Thus the Sociopath Society is born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. School... Woe the day it was invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first fanfiction that I ever wrote. Ever. It's actually finished but I'm editing each chapter before it is posted. I apologise for the terrible writing quality at the beginning but it gets better. I think its half decent because at least two of my friends have read all of it and enjoyed it enough to read the sequel (which surprised me because I thought this was pretty crap). Anyway...
> 
> I don't have much knowledge of the school system in England due to being Scottish (we actually have a completely different system). All I know is the exams and stuff. So if I make any mistakes concerning that I apologise.
> 
> Thank you  
> -MN

Of all the horrible inventions on this earth school had to be the worst. It was basically a place to put the nuisance that was children and attempt to force some pointless information upon their tiny brains. Boarding school even more so.

This was the third Sherlock had been sent to. The fifteen year old saw no point in going but his parents begged to differ. They just wanted rid of him, really. Him the nuisance. And Mycroft didn't really care, off making his name in the government. So here he was. At least he'd managed to get into the year two above his age range. It was a small victory. Maybe. And more than halved the amount of years he had left in school. But he already knew all the information there was to be taught here. This was just so... pointless. The whole school thing.

But he didn't have much choice in the matter. So he would have to deal with it. Now he was forced to walk up the grand steps leading towards the school entrance, coated by parents saying farewell to their children like buzzing flies. Nuisances. Sherlock himself had come alone. His parents had paid for the Taxi there, nothing more. He was forced to enter the school alone; flitting though the crowd like a shadow. The bustle died down upon reaching the open doors and moving into the entrance hall. There were a few students here hanging together and discussing whatever they thought about in their fickle little minds. A few gazes landed on him, the strange new boy, whispers forming on their lips. Sherlock paid them no heed. A light frown fell across his pale face as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of the long grey-black trench coat he always wore. He didn't care if that and the blue scarf wrapped around his neck weren't school uniform and went against the rules. Uniform and rules were so stupid. Made to be ignored. Sighing in an almost exaggerated manner the boy headed off towards his room. Number 221b. It was in the west wing or something. Sherlock had memorised the map of the school and stored it somewhere in his mind palace, or so he liked to call it.

The corridors were almost empty as Sherlock walked towards his room alone. It was going to be a long year.

Dumping his suitcase on the bed, Sherlock surveyed his new 'home' with a sceptical eye. It was nice enough. If plain. There were two beds, identical with white sheets and curtains meaning they could be sort of separated. On one wall was a large window overlooking the playing fields. A nice enough view. Two desks were situated in front of this. Average size. Sherlock wasn't sure if that was enough room for him. Ah well. He ignored the second door in the room which was situated near one of the beds. Most likely leading to a bathroom. Which he would have to share with his roommate. He would dwell on that later.

No, no point in thinking about this school. Sherlock had more important things to do. He pulled his laptop out of his suitcase and placed it on a desk, flicking it open. His parents had only got it for him so he would shut up (a thing he rarely did when around the right people). Currently he didn't use it for much. Just his blog, the Science of Deduction. Sherlock was going to be a detective when he left this wretched place. A consulting detective to be precise. He had kind of made the job up. No, created it. Actually he sort of already was one. A consulting detective. The only one in the world.

Not that anyone in the world cared. Not his parents, not the teachers at his previous schools. His blog had a grand total of thirteen views. And he had no friends. Had never had any friends.


	2. Seriously Regretting His Friend Choice

Yet another year of school. Only one more year and finally he could go to university. John was looking forward to that very much. And he would go to university even if his dad wanted him to join the army. John had only one dream. To become a doctor. To help people in a way only they could.

A light smile dawned on his lips as John approached a small group hanging in the entrance hall. His friends. Sort of.

"Morning." His greeting was casual, accompanied by a slight to each person. There was Greg Lestrade, the leader (sort of) of the group. He and John got on well enough. Sally Donovan just irked John, as did Anderson (who went by nothing but his surname). Then there was Molly Hooper. A sweet girl, she wanted to go into medicine like John. He liked her. She was sixteen, though a year younger and a year below the rest of them.

"How were you holidays, John?" Molly smiled sweetly at him, brown eyes genuinely shining.

John shrugged noncommittally, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. "Good enough, I guess. Dad enrolled me into an army course... Yours?" Molly blinked slightly, before smiling again.

"Mine? Good. They were good. I spent some time helping in the hospital..."

"Cool." John nodded before his blue gaze flickered to Lestrade.

"You know if there's any new boy in the year? I hope so. Otherwise I'm in a room with... James." The grimace on his face was one of near hatred. The boy that had shared his dorm had left the school due to bullying from James. Had almost committed suicide. If John hated anyone it was James Brook.

"Truthfully I don't know," Lestrade answered with an almost sorry shrug. "You'll just have to wait and see, eh?" The laugh at the end was teasing. Sally rolled her eyes.

"At least your not in a dorm with Irene Adler." Acid often in her tone practically dripped from her words.

"Surprisingly that's not possible considering, you know, the gender differences," John retorted, snorting in a rather exasperated manner. Molly opened her mouth as if to contribute something but quickly closed it again. Staying silent, a thing she often did.

"Really? Because I was under the impression that you were-" Lestrade cut Sally off before she got any further by clearing his throat. Anderson just sniggered. John bit his lip, one hand clenched into a fist in his pocket. Why did he hang out with these people?

"John, Anderson, how 'bout we go check out our new rooms?" Lestrade spoke quickly, obviously wanting to break up whatever fight that would build up. John was generally a nice guy but could get violent... he'd gotten into a few fights before.

"Yeh, sure," John shrugged with a sigh, no longer paying any attention to Sally. Lestrade nodded, heading off swiftly with Anderson in tow. John offered Molly a goodbye smile.

"Have fun with Irene!" He couldn't helped but add, smirking at Sally with a light laugh before jogging to catch up with Lestrade and Anderson.

"So we've finally escaped dorm corridor 220!" John exclaimed with an exaggerated sigh of relief once he reached his fellow pupils. "Good bye matron Miss Wilson and hello Mrs Hudson!" He grinned at Lestrade, not so much at Anderson. "Which room are the two of you in?"

"221a," Lestrade replied calmly, a light smile playing with the corners of his lips.

"Next door then! So if I am indeed with... James... I can escape to your room," John nodded as if it was all settled.

"Sure," Lestrade made a shrugging motion, stopping as they reached a back door with 221a nailed onto it in brass letters. Anderson showed his displeasure by just pushing past and storming into the room.

"See you at dinner," Lestrade offered before following his roommate. John just sniggered and headed along the corridor to the next door on the left. Time to see who his roommate really was.

John opened the door slowly, careful to not allow it to make so much as a creak. His gaze quickly flickered around the room before zoning in on the other person there. The boy had his back to the door, seemingly hunched over a laptop. Black curls sat atop his head, surprisingly neat, and he wore a jacket that definitely was not within the uniform guidelines. He had a rather cold and almost mysterious aura, seeming to float around so it was quite obvious. Beyond that John could not tell a thing about this boy.

At least it wasn't James Brook.

John glanced to the side, noting something that seemed to be protruding from a rather large suitcase. Some kind of instrument; probably a violin or a viola. So his roommate was a musician. Shrugging slightly to himself John stepped into the room and cleared his throat.

"Hello! I'm John Watson, nice to meet you. Welcome to St Bart's! Who might you be?"

The silver-blue eyes that spun around to meet his seemed to tear him apart until only his soul was on show. They were cold, so cold; a mask. Covering something else. A secret, perhaps? His feelings? John did not know. He had no time to ponder before he got a curt answer.

"Sherlock Holmes."


	3. Budding Friendship? Possibly...

“Sherlock?” Sherlock arched an eyebrow as he quickly scanned the other boy. He was seventeen, obviously, so in the same year as him. He wore the set school uniform along with a dark navy v-neck sweater well within the guidelines. A stickler? No, Sherlock didn’t think so. Just someone who was trying to get by. Unnoticed if possible. There was something about him that was likeable. Maybe it was the slight twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Or the slight quirk of his lips; a smile when he greeted Sherlock. Actually greeted him rather than jumping to conclusions and calling him a freak. It was strange... Sherlock generally didn’t get good first impressions of people.

“Yes, that is my name.” Sherlock kept his tone curt. Cold. Emotionless. John laughed, causing Sherlock to tilt his head. What?  
“What is so funny?”

“Just... never mind.” John smiled brightly, moving over to the free bed. Sherlock frowned slightly, turning back to his laptop so he was no longer looking at the strangely handsome youth who he, for some reason, wanted to befriend. This caused his frown to deepen. Why would he want to be friends with anyone? He shook his head, eyes narrowed as he typed a few words onto the current blog entry he was working on. ‘423 types of tobacco ash.’ An interesting subject.

“So why are you joining a new school at seventeen? And St Bart’s of all the ones in the world.” Brilliant. His roommate, John, was trying to make conversation. Definitely not what he wanted.

“Fifteen, actually. I’m fifteen.” No answer to the question. Sherlock would rather avoid that subject. At all costs.

“Really? Why are you here then? In this dorm. You know... with me. I’m seventeen.”

“I’m ahead of most my age,” Sherlock snapped back in an attempt to close the discussion. John didn’t take the hint and tried to keep up their ‘chat.’

“Really? You must be somewhat of a genius. Youngest in our year and all. James won’t be pleased.” There was a slight snigger and Sherlock imagined that John was smirking at the moment. He didn’t turn around to look though. Only stopped typing to ponder who James was. Obviously a dislikeable boy. Or something. John didn’t seem to be the one to hate for no reason.

“You have any family?” John breached the silence that had fallen upon them with Sherlock’s thinking. Rather annoying. Especially with the topic of choice. Sherlock had no wish to discuss... that thing. It would be easy enough to steer the subject away from that.

“How’s your older sister?” Sherlock’s question obviously shocked John. Good. Move it away from asking about Sherlock’s family.

“How did you...”

“It’s obvious. Your school uniform is obviously handed down. At least you jumper and tie.” He nodded slightly, turning around in his chair to look at John. The look of shock was to be expected. No disgust... yet. It would come. John made to speak but Sherlock cut him off before he could say so much as a word. “How did I know she’s a girl? Well your trousers are newer suggesting that they had to be bought for you as girls here wear skirts. Leading to the conclusion that you have an older sister.”

Silence followed his explanation. Sherlock kept his eyes on John, picking up his reactions. Only complete and utter shock showed. Strange.

“Wow... that was absolutely brilliant! How did you do that?” What? Surprise flashed across Sherlock’s haze though it quickly disappeared. Once again replaced by an icy wall. Which could not be thawed by John’s smile.

“I observe.” A truthful answer. If a short one.

“Still not everyone can just do that by observing. I was right, you are a genius!” John chatted away as he began to unpack, placing his clothes in the small chest of drawers beside his bed. Sherlock noted how carefully wrapped the photographs he placed on the surface had been. Strange... the other boy must be close to his family. What would that be like, Sherlock wondered.

“Yeh, I guess.” He grumbled as an almost reply to the other boy. As he turned back to his laptop a familiar feeling began to creep into his mind before gradually filling his entire body.

He needed one now.

Scrambling off his chair in a frantic motion he darted towards his suitcase. He tore through his clothes to find the cunningly concealed bundle. So that Mycroft, on his Sherlock search duty, didn’t have a chance to find it. Fumbling with his lighter he felt relief run through him as he sucked on his cigarette, then exhaled. He wouldn’t need another till tomorrow. He was rather proud of getting down to two a day. 

Ah, there it was. The look of disgust had arrived! Well almost. Was there also... concern? No, couldn’t be. Just Sherlock’s imagination. He tried to ignore John as he exhaled again. Feeling a slight nag of something. Guilt? He wasn’t sure.

“You... stop it! You can’t smoke in here! Mrs Hudson will blow. Not to mention, it’s, well... you know, you’re underage, so it’s illegal and all.” John managed to get this out head facing away from the fumes. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a few more breaths before stubbing it out. The feeling nagging him fluctuated slightly. What was it?

“Happy?” John nodded, concern flashing across his eyes. Again. How strange.

A sudden loud ringing echoed from outside the corridor causing John to jump off the bed.

“Dinner!”


	4. Dinner Dates? Please no

“New boy?” Anderson sneered, gaze darting to the figure trailing John. John just nodded slightly, sitting at the table his friends were at and dumping his tray down. Dinner was a rather informal affair at St Bart’s. He glanced around in an attempt to find Sherlock, who had been behind him only a few moments ago. It seemed that he had gone off to sit at another, empty table.  
John tried not to frown. He had known the younger boy for an hour at most and was already concerned. Sherlock had seemed so lonely... still did, not to mention the smoking and pitiful diet. Not the healthiest thing for a fifteen year old. A sigh escaped John’s lips. He couldn’t just let him sit over there alone.

“Hey, why don’t you come sit with me and my friends?” John called just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, waving him over. The dark haired boy scowled, reluctantly standing and coming to sit next to John. He seemed to realise that if he didn’t come he would continuously pestered to do so.

A rather awkward silence descended upon the small group upon Sherlock’s grumbled arrival. Everyone quietly ate their food, a rather good meal. John had found the biggest steak there, piled his plate with mashed potato and peas and was no digging in. He loved food. Had a massive appetite.

“Mmm... this is good.” John mumbled as he shovelled food into his mouth, trying to make conversation. Lestrade nodded, arching an eyebrow slightly. Anderson and Sally were watching Sherlock, identical sneers on their faces. Molly’s eyes were on Sherlock too. But it was a look of barely concealed adoration shining in her eyes. John felt a twinge of pity. From what he observed he doubted Sherlock would notice nor show any interest. In anyone.

“Who’s he?” Lestrade spoke quietly to John, nodding in Sherlock’s direction. Sherlock probably heard but showed no sign of it.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John replied with a thin smile. He nudged Sherlock slightly in attempt to get him to look up at the others. “Sherlock, this is Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Anderson and Molly Hooper.” Sherlock gave a mere nod before looking back down at his food, brow furrowed. Molly smiled prettily at him though this quickly faded when she gained no attention.

“Sherlock?” Disdain filtered through Sally’s voice. “Oh, I heard about him. A friend was in his old school. You know he’s been expelled twice. This is his last chance. He blew up a chemistry lab and was found experimenting on drugs.” Anderson was looking at Sherlock in the way you would regard a dangerous animal, pretty much. It sickened John. Who cared about Sherlock’s past? Only the future was important. “I also heard that he shows no emotions. A psychopath.”

Sherlock’s gaze snapped up, icy blue. Cold. “I’m not a psychopath. I’m a highly functioning sociopath, do your research!”  
That silenced them. Silent laughter shook through John’s shoulders, earning a confused glance from Sherlock. Who instantly went back to pushing his food about his plate.

“He’s a strange one,” Lestrade spoke calmly though there was a certain look of amusement in his dark brown eyes. John shrugged, a motion saying he didn’t know Sherlock very well.

“He’s fifteen and in our year.”

“Really? James won’t be please,” Lestrade nodded with a smile. He didn’t like James either. At the mention of James Sherlock looked up again, eyes narrowed. Almost curious. John tilted his head, turning to glance at Sherlock.

“James Brook,” he stated, guessing what Sherlock was curious about. “Self proclaimed genius. Sixteen and in his last year at school, younger than normal like you. He’s a troublemaker. Those that want to cause trouble but not get caught go to him for advice.” John watched Sherlock carefully. He looked almost excited.

“He seems like an... interesting character,” Sherlock chose his words carefully.

“He is. And you’ll most likely meet him in class tomorrow.”


	5. Let's Not Blow Up the Lab

Interesting. This rat had definitely not died of natural causes. Sherlock had known that something was off as soon as the dead creature had been dumped on the desk for John and him to dissect. He didn’t care what the actual task was, truthfully he wasn’t sure, but rather concentrated on deducing the cause of its death. More fun. Worked his brain. If only a little.

Obviously he knew what it was that killed the rat. Rat poison. Obvious, easy. He just needed to make sure that he could prove it. Find out the exact compound and all the typical signs.

Frowning slightly Sherlock scribbled something on the piece of paper next to him. He wasn’t sure whose paper it was but who cared? He glanced to the side, eyes narrowed. John was inspecting the heart at the moment. He’d need to get that back.  
“The heart, John.” The look he got was one of incredulity. The people at the desk next to them turned their heads to look. Brilliant. All he was doing was asking for the heart.

“The heart?” Sherlock repeated, all while scribbling a few notes down. A snigger fluttered into his ear, a sound he’d been hearing all day during class. Anderson obviously. Sherlock just ignored him. Fixed John with his even stare, one hand turning the animal before him. He was managing to make himself stand out as weird without trying. 

“I’m still using it, Sherlock,” John moved over to look at Sherlock’s notes. His eyes widened then narrowed again in slight annoyance. “What are you doing?!” He practically hissed, eyes darting towards the teacher in a nervous manner. Sherlock didn’t understand why. “We’ll get in trouble!”

Sherlock shrugged. “So? This class is so bo-ring! Death is so much more fun. It was rat poison.” John snorted.

“One day and I already want to punch you.” Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at that statement. He was used to that kind of threat, if it was one. He promptly pulled the heart away and began to dissect it. Ignoring John’s pleas to stop and do the actual work. Hah. What a stupid suggestion. 

“Rat poison!” Sherlock declared triumphantly, drawing the gazes of those within earshot. “I was correct!”

“Now can we-” John was cut off by the ringing of the bell, signalling the end of the period. Sherlock glanced at his watch. 12:30. Lunch. He would skip it to try and sneak into a chemistry lab. After having a smoke first, obviously.

“Finish your formal write-up for homework!” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the teacher’s order. Boring. He wouldn’t be doing that. John sighed, beginning to pack away his folders and clear away the experiment.

“Well, well, look who we have here. If it isn’t the new Mr. Genius. How are you enjoying your first day?” The words were spoken in a drawl, an Irish lilt filtering through. Sherlock turned to face the source, scrunching up his findings and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. He had refused to take it off even when threatened with a detention. He wore their stupid uniform under it so shouldn’t they be happy with that?!

“You must be James Brook,” Sherlock replied calmly, eyes fixed on the boy before him. Obviously sixteen. Troublemaker. A leader. No emotions on show. Intelligent... interesting. His gaze flickered to the other two flanking the first. Both seventeen, female and male. Equally dangerous, Sherlock deduced, but in different ways. Troublemakers.

“Correct,” James smile, a fake one. Obvious. Too obvious. “But please, call me Jim. This is Irene and Sebastian. I thought it would be nice to talk to you. Since we’re both... above the level of our age.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. This boy acted so charismatic yet was obviously a sinister character. 

“I’m going to have to pass on that, I have important... homework to do,” Sherlock eventually lied smoothly albeit in a rather stiff manner. John moved to stand next to him; a frown on his face of barely concealed... hate? Annoyance? Something like that.  
“As you say,” James smirked slightly as if he knew something, stepping aside to let Sherlock pass. The look he got from Irene was much like one of a predator towards prey. He was not sure what to think about her. So he tried not to. Instead he walked past, John following with a dark look on his face.

“Until the next time, Sherlock Holmes. And you too, John.” Was that a... threat? Certainly seemed so. Sherlock grinned, almost celebrating on the inside. James obviously didn’t like there being someone younger and smarter than him. But still, he interested Sherlock. Posed a threat, a real threat. Was a worthy opponent of Sherlock. Like a bully would be to a normal school child. But here it was a game, a game that had just begun. A game of wits. Where they were evenly matched. Similar.

Sherlock looked forward to their next meeting.


	6. It's Just A List

The first few weeks of school crept by slowly. John plodded though the days. Sherlock was a constant annoyance yet John found his feelings for the younger boy were strange. All mixed up and confusing him. He would sort them out later. But he liked to think that he and Sherlock were friends. Even if it was an unusual, uneasy friendship. After all Sherlock was... Sherlock.

“John!” Sherlock practically barged into their dorm, coat flowing out behind him. The teacher’s had given up telling him to take it off. John thought it looked rather good on him...

"Not now, I’m doing homework.”

“This is important.”

“More imp-”

“Yes.” Sherlock stormed over, slapping a piece of paper down in front of John. “Look.”

“What about it?” John frowned, eyes narrowed at the paper. A list of some sort. With names and items. “It’s just a-”

“On contraire, it is not! You always see but you do not observe, John.” Oh brilliant. Sherlock was in one of his extra strange moods. John wished the fifteen year old would stop trying to be detective sometimes.

“It’s a list of all the missing or possibly stolen items.” Oh look he was continuing. “I crossed out all those that were returned or found. They were only four left. For each year, in the past four years.” John looked closer and saw that this was in fact true. Curious.

“And what sparked your sudden search for this list? And your interest in stolen items?” John looked at Sherlock sceptically. Sherlock just shrugged.

“I was thinking. You know how Irene had those bar cuffs go missing a week ago, or so she claims. Then Molly couldn’t find her necklace? Well the disappearances were to close together to be a coincidence. So I decided to look into it.”

“Of course you did,” John rolled his eyes, which had no effect on the tall boy standing impatiently beside him.

“Well, go on. Take a closer look. See if you can crack the code.” John leant forward, scrunching his eyes up so he could see the words more clearly.

STUDENT ITEM REPORTED MISSING  
RHIAN LANCASTER FLUFFY EXPENSIVE MITTENS  
ZOE TORREDEN AMETHYST  
HUGH STONE JOURNAL  
SARAH IRVINE LAZULITE  
CAITLIN SINCLAIR PINK SCARF  
IAN BRODY GOOD ART PIECE  
JOSEPH URQUART OVERALLS  
SOPHIA MCNEILL ‘MY FAMILY’ PHOTOGRAPH  
KATHERINE IRVINE FOSSIL  
CARL POWERS SNEAKERS  
LAUREN BRODY ELEMENTAL NECKLACE  
CATHERINE CARTER CELLPHONE  
IVAN BROOKES RAFT BUILDING KIT  
OLIVIA THORNE BOOK OF ANIMAL ART  
AUGUSTINE HARDING ALTOMETER  
ARTHUR MORAN CALL BOOK  
IRENE ADLER BAR CUFFS  
MOLLY HOOPER NECKLACE

“Nope, no idea,” John frowned. “Some strange items, though. If they mean anything they would be in groups of four...”

“Of course, I know,” Sherlock snapped in an irritated manner, grabbing the paper off John. He flopped over onto his bed, paper beside him. Not a single other word came from his mouth as he pressed his hands together under his chin.

John arched an eyebrow, relishing the silence. He would leave Sherlock to ponder over the missing items giving him much needed time to complete his homework. He was sure nothing would come from what Sherlock was so excited.

So John turned back to his schoolwork while Sherlock did his own special type of work.


	7. A Solution? For Trouble, Yes.

Physics was so ridiculously boring. One of John’s least favourite subjects. But he had to take it if he wanted to become a doctor. It was rather annoying, really. But he would stick at it. At least he got good grades.

Sighing he glanced to his right at Sherlock. The raven haired boy was hunched over his work, brow furrowed and a look of frustration in his eyes. He was almost definitely not writing the essay they were meant to be working on. He was most likely trying to crack the ‘thievery code’ as John had dubbed it. The other boy had barely spoken in the three days since he had got the list. At first John relished the silence he had not been granted in the weeks Sherlock had been his roommate. After a while, though, John had begun to miss the sound of Sherlock’s voice. The deep baritone, beautiful and silky.

Wait, what was he thinking?! Why was he thinking of Sherlock’s voice in that manner?

Frowning, John wrote down a few more words. He was also worried. Just a little, he was beginning to get used to Sherlock’s ways. Prolonged silence didn’t seem beyond him. But still... John was concerned that the younger boy was pushing himself too far. At least physically. Sherlock was eating less and sleeping little. Not good for him at all.

“John! I’ve got it!” Sherlock’s sudden outburst, loud enough to be heard around the entire classroom, caused heads to turn. And the teacher to stand, a whirlwind of anger forming on her face.

“Look!” Sherlock had jumped up, excitement dancing across his perfectly sculptured features, slapping the sheet of paper onto John’s desk. John looked down. Frowning he glanced at the notes scrawled everywhere in Sherlock’s surprisingly neat handwriting. His gaze then flickered to the circled letters from the list, separated in clustered words.

I F  
O A  
U L  
A L

John opened his mouth to speak but didn’t get a chance. The teacher had stormed over to their desks, shooting daggers at the both of them.

“Would you care to explain what is going on?” A snigger. Anderson.

Sherlock just ignored the teacher, Mrs Mill, pointing at the letters.

“See, I told you John! It’s a message!” His blue-green eyes stared into John’s own. He looked much like a puppy, eager for attention and praise. It was hidden, though, and John suspected only he could see it. He felt a twinge of sorrow in his heart. Poor Sherlock... ignored most his life, obviously. But now wasn’t the time for praise.

“Great, Sherlock, but now-” Sherlock cut John off. John looked nervously at Mrs Mill who looked ready to kill.  
“But who was the message to? It must have been someone on the list...” Sherlock snatched the paper back, staring at it intently. Not even noticing the fuming teacher in front of them.

“Mr Holmes, if you would hand that over.”

Now he noticed her. Looking up Sherlock frowned at the interruption to his thoughts. Then he shook his head in an obstinate manner. John sighed. Brilliant.

“Hand it over.”

“No. It is none of your business.” John tugged at his sandy-blonde hair nervously. They were getting into more trouble by the second. He could feel the smirks of their classmates on his back.

“I think it is as you are interrupting my class.”

“So? It’s not like anyone’s learning anything here.” Oh Sherlock. This was it. Goodbye John Watson’s perfect record.

“Mr Holmes! You will leave this classroom immediately and take yourself up to the headmaster’s office. You too, Mr Watson.”  
John groaned. Oh, he was going to kill Sherlock. Just wait until they got out of the headmaster’s office...


	8. Love In The Air? Well It Is An Enclosed Space.

“Sherlock!” Sherlock glanced at John as they left the headmaster’s office having been thoroughly chewed out. Sherlock wasn’t bothered but John obviously was. Sherlock didn’t see why.

“Yes?”

“You- You... you just ruined my perfect record! Now my dad will use it to get me to join the army!” John let out what could only be an angry sigh. Sherlock, in the weeks they’d known each other, had never seen John like this. Annoyance flashing through his beautiful blue eyes, cheeks flushed so they were almost red. In anger. Sherlock almost felt... guilty. He disliked it. Feeling emotions. They just got in the way.

“I’ve got better things to do than getting detentions! I need to go to university! Do you know how hard it is to become a doctor?! I need to be perfect.” 

“John...” Sherlock frowned, glancing around. Pupils were beginning to filter into the corridor, the bell having rung for break. He realised it wouldn’t be best to make a scene.

“Don’t interrupt me! This is important, Sherlock! If you paid any attention to other people you would notice that some of us care about school and not stupid secret messages!” As John ranted Sherlock continued to look at the walls. He suddenly grabbed the older boy’s wrist, dragging him through the nearest door and slamming it behind him. It seemed to be a supply closet or something. Stationary and tools were everywhere on shelves, floor... everywhere. As a result there was little room forcing the two boys to stand rather close to each other.

“Why did you...” John trailed off, face scrunched up and an ugly scowl marring his rather splendid features.

Why was Sherlock thinking of his appearance in that way? He was so confused.

“Because I need to talk to you alone about the message with no chance of being overheard.”

“You need to talk to me?! About the message?! Really, Sherlock, did you pay any attention to what I said?! You’re a selfish bastard. Maybe they were right. You are a psychopath, sociopath, whatever. You don’t care about anyone! You can’t-”

A sudden urge came over Sherlock, a feeling he’d never felt before. It baffled him, beyond belief. Took over him. Maybe it was the tight space and close proximity of his and John’s bodies. He didn’t even realise what he was doing. The fifteen year old leant in, face inches from John’s.

Then before John could say anymore Sherlock moved closer. Their lips met. A kiss, if small. A light brush. Yet it felt right to Sherlock. Like this was supposed to happen. Sensations filled his brain. Things he’d never felt before. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. All these feelings. What he was doing instinctively. 

The contact lasted mere seconds but it felt like longer when Sherlock pulled away. It had been a spur of the moment action. He hadn’t even realised he felt that way about John. Wasn’t even sure he did. Not really. After all Sherlock hadn’t exactly had much experience with emotions. At all.

John appeared speechless, though, words evading him. That was good. Although he’d most likely question what Sherlock just did.

Because Sherlock wasn’t sure how John felt about it. Couldn’t tell. Something was messing with his brain. Ugh, emotions. Why had he gotten himself into this situation? More specifically, how? How had his brain suddenly conjured up feelings?!

“Sherlock... why did you...” John’s voice was quiet, trailing off. Sherlock noticed a light blush on his cheeks. He looked cute.  
“I... it just felt right. You were so angry and I wanted you to stop talking...” Sherlock stammered, for once at a loss for words. He felt vulnerable and hated it. He just didn’t know what to say. His mind was fogged so he couldn’t observe as well as normal. Didn’t know how John felt, what he was thinking. Was worried. This must be what it felt like to be normal. How horrible, imagine feeling this way all the time. Controlled by feelings. “Was it bad?” Instinctive words.

“No,” John replied, his normal smile falling onto his face. “Far from it. It was brilliant.” John suddenly closed the distance between the two of them, crashing his lips against Sherlock’s. His arms wrapped around the taller boy’s neck and Sherlock felt his own hands move down to John’s hips. This felt perfect. Meant to be. Every touch... Sherlock had never felt like this. Well, of course he hadn’t. The kissing seemed to last for eternity. Peaceful. Soothing. Sherlock could almost sense his worries and doubts vanish if only for the time spent kissing. It was bliss. John comforted him. 

And it was John that broke that second, passionate kiss. Sherlock almost felt hurt. Worried.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock whispered, tilting his head in confusion as John chuckled lightly.

“Not at all, Sherly,” John smirked slightly at the look of horror on Sherlock’s face due to the nickname. “BUT you did drag me in her for a reason.” He moved his hand to playfully poke Sherlock in the chest, causing them to move further apart. Sherlock just wanted to pull John back into an embrace and kiss him for as long as possible. What he wanted to do shocked him. Things he’d only heard of. These situations where things he had never really paid attention to before. Love had been useless to the fifteen year old all his life. Well, more like it had been non-existent. He wasn’t even sure if that was what he was feeling.

“Yeh I did... so?” John laughed again, rolling his eyes.

“So tell me what you wanted to say.” He put his hands on his hips, looking at Sherlock in a no nonsense manner.

“About the list and stuff?” Sherlock frowned, all the deductions that had temporarily gone away zooming right back. “Well... the message had to be for someone. This is bigger than I thought, John. Not just common school thievery. A proper case. Murders, maybe?” A light grin formed on Sherlock’s face at that prospect. “Something real fun.” John arched an eyebrow and Sherlock knew what he was going to say, ask. So he didn’t let him. “Thing is I need your help, John. Well I don’t really need it... I want it.”

Sherlock bit his lip feeling nervous all over again. What if he had messed up? He had never been the best with sentimental words.

“I’ll help you,” John smiled softly without a second thought. “Add some fun to my last year of school. Though that was always going to happen when you joined the school.” Sherlock blushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Flustered about the sweetness in John’s voice. The... love? That was what it was called, wasn’t it? Liking someone as more than a friend.

“Thank you.” Sherlock’s words were genuine and he generally didn’t give thanks. Especially to small things like this.

“My pleasure,” John laughed lightly. “Hey we could make it into some sort of club. You know like the top secret ones in books? I used to pretend to be in one when I was younger.” Was John getting sentimental? Sherlock wasn’t sure but he went along with it.

“If you wish.” Sherlock didn’t really know what else to say.

“We’ll need a name,” John looked at Sherlock expectantly. Why him? He didn’t know what to call their group thing. Then it hit him.  
“I’ve got one. The Sociopath Society.”

“What? Why?” John’s tone was sceptical. “I’m not a sociopath.”

 

“No, you’re not. That’s me. You’re society.” Sherlock shrugged, unsure if it was good or not. He couldn’t tell!

“I like it. Has a nice ring to it. The Sociopath Society; investigated unusual crimes.” A wide amused grin passed John’s lips before he moved in to kiss Sherlock again.


	9. Deductions and Distractions

Sherlock was back to his silence. John by now had guessed that it was his thinking mode. The fifteen year old was still pondering over the list trying to find a supposed second message within the first. It was all a bit confusing for John. Nonetheless he attempted to help in whatever way possible. Even if that wasn’t a large contribution. The silence was a friendly one, though, and a good environment for John to study in for his exams next year. No point in being unprepared. Anyway, after Christmas would be busy. Though a nerd, in a way, John was also an avid sportsman. And in the next two terms he would be playing in football matches, tennis matches and doing athletics. So very busy.

All the more reason to study now. Sherlock never seemed to revise. Or do any schoolwork. But John guessed that he knew all he needed to know.

“How’s it going?” John glanced over at Sherlock where he was curled up, knees against his chest and hands pressed together under his chin, concerned sparked in his gaze. The younger boy was eating even less than normal and barely sleeping, claiming that he needed to concentrate on the ‘case.’ John was almost regretting agreeing to help him thus creating the Sociopath Society. It wasn’t much of a society, though, with there only being two members. Maybe John could talk to Lestrade. He wanted to be a Detective Inspector after all.

“No progress,” Sherlock groaned out, glaring at John as if it was his fault that he couldn’t work it out. John sighed, standing and putting down his pen as the dinner bell rang loud and clear. 

“Come to dinner?” John moved over to Sherlock’s bed, frowning.

“Don’t want to.” Sherlock had the stubbornness of the teenager he never acted like. John put his hand on the other boy’s, looking at him pleadingly. How come Sherlock acted mature when it wasn’t needed and immature when it wasn’t wanted?

“Please?” Sherlock shook his head, once again stubborn. This caused John to attempt to pull him up. Sherlock obviously didn’t want to come but John wasn’t taking no as an answer. So he was resorting to force.

“Just come to the dining hall, for me? You don’t have to eat anything and you can bring your notes with you!” John was almost reduced to begging as his friend tried to stay sitting against John’s best efforts. Obstinate bastard. John missed Sherlock sorely every time he wasn’t in sight. Even his presence comforted him. Because John was worried, what with all the message stuff and Sherlock convinced there was a murder involved. Of course Sherlock didn’t notice his concern, or pretended not to. John wasn’t sure which. The two hadn’t talked about the... stuff other than talking that had happened in the supply closet. And John wasn’t sure exactly where they stood.

Because Sherlock was so bloody hard to read!

“Come on, Sher! Please. I’ll... I’ll come out with you if you need to smoke!” John offered reluctantly, trying not to look amused at the way Sherlock perked up before jumping to his feet. That was another thing John worried about. The smoking and going outside on his own in the dark. John would have to talk to him about that. About alternatives. 

“Fine I’ll come.” John didn’t know how he did it. Change from stubborn to excited to reluctant bordering on bored in the space of a few minutes. That was Sherlock for you.

“Great.”

It was longer than anticipated before Sherlock and John could escape the clutches of the dining hall. Turned out Lestrade had wanted to discuss university applications with john. And it had been one heck of a long discussion, with Sally and Anderson (ugh) joining in in the end. Molly had been fawning over Sherlock much to his annoyance and John’s amusement.  
But finally they were outside having slipped out corridor 221b’s fire exit. For once John didn’t mind about breaking the rules. Sherlock snuck out all the time, when he though John wasn’t looking, and had never been caught. Why would they be now?  
Sherlock seemed to know where he was going pretty well, not even needing to use the torch John had brought along. Just the light of the stars and moon. John’s eyes soon adjusted to the darkness. Then widened at the sight of the place Sherlock had come to.

It was a small clearing just off the campus, surrounded by a ring of trees. All types; oak, beech, pine and many more. Leaves of brown, red and gold (at least John thought they were those colours) coated the grass beneath their thick trunks. John smiled, turning a full circle to take it in. So pristine. Beautiful lit by moonlight. John slowly made his way to underneath a tree, lowering himself silently to the ground and leaning his head against the rough bark. He was glad he’d offered to come. He should make it a regular thing. Even if the wind was cold, a damp smell in the air signalling the coming of rain. Before long it would be snowing. After all winter was coming quickly and they were in England.

Closing his eyes only served to relax him more. Even the sounds of Sherlock’s lighter and his inhaling and exhaling didn’t serve to bother him. At least he couldn’t see what was going on. Instead of thinking about that John just concentrated on his surroundings. The sounds, smells, feelings. The feeling of the chilly breeze ruffling his short blonde hair, the crunch of dry leaves as someone walked towards him.

Wait a minute.

A rather hot breath hit his face, mingling with the smell of cigarette smoke. But it wasn’t a bad smell. John slowly opened his eyes to stare into those that might as well be galaxies. Even in the dark where no colours were on show John could imagine each one in those eyes.

Yep, definitely glad he had come here with Sherlock.

“Hello, Sher,” John whispered softly as he moved his head closer and gently put his arms around the other boy’s neck.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock smiled. A small thing, but it made John feel warm inside. Because Sherlock almost never smiled.  
Al off a sudden Sherlock had pulled John into a tight embrace, unbalancing both and causing them to fall to the ground as their lips collided. It was a passionate kiss, sparking a form of love in John’s heart. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock felt the same. Though he must feel something for John. After all this was the second time Sherlock had kissed him so it couldn’t just be a coincidence or something.

Soon the two had managed to get themselves tangled up on the ground, leaves all over them and lips still pressed together. Suddenly Sherlock pulled away, sitting up with a frown and adjusting his scarf.

“You’re distracting me from the case.” John almost strangled the fifteen year old there and then, sighing. That kiss had been perfect bliss! Sherlock must have felt it... John was yearning for more. He just wanted contact, any form of it with Sherlock. Sitting up himself the blond moved as close as possible to Sherlock, head hovering before his.

“Is it not a good distraction?” John let a small amount of hurt seep into his tone.

“Yes... but...” Sherlock looked almost guilty. Almost. “I’m married to my work. My cases. I’ve decided.” John almost laughed out loud at that. Instead he gave Sherlock an affectionate peck on the cheek and replied.

“Really?! Well I’m going to have to have a little talk with your ‘work’ and tell it you’re already taken.” John laughed good naturedly.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Distracting you? With what, my words? Come on Sher!” John tilted his head as a look of realisation dawned across Sherlock’s pale face.

“Words! That’s it, John! The code! You’re a genius!” Sherlock gave John a quick kiss on the lips before sprinting full pelt towards the school, not giving a chance of John to get a word in otherwise.


	10. I Think It's Alive... Maybe.

“I’ve worked out the second message,” Sherlock spoke the instance he heard the door creaking open. After all it could only be John, his breathing punctuated by light panting from his run after Sherlock. Sherlock liked that. How John chased him. He just wanted to- no! Concentrate, concentrate. The case was more important. A road of discovery towards becoming a consulting detective. Fun. Exercising his brain.

 

But kissing John was fun... NO! Sherlock quickly banished these thoughts to a small room in his mind, locking the door. They were of no use at the moment.

“How?” John had moved to stand beside Sherlock, staring at the piece of paper intently.

“Simple, using the positions of the letters from the previous message within words to find the new message,” Sherlock tried to explain but gave up at John’s confused expression. “The Final Problem Alive. That’s the second message. The first was a threat. The second a clue. Planted for someone like me. It was all planned out, including the four thieveries this year.” Two boys, Sebastian and Tom, had recently lost items.

“The Final Problem Alive.” Sherlock began muttering to himself over and over again, pacing the room while frantically tugging his curls. The final problem. That could be anything, anything! What type of problem? A maths one? Science? No, Sherlock didn’t think so. Alive... something alive. The final problem is being alive? No, what kind of clue would that be?

“Alive?” John seemed to be thinking on it also, sitting down on his bed. “Biology, maybe? Medicine? That’s to do with life...” Sherlock’s head snapped up, a grin flashing across his face.

“That’s it! Obvious, obvious! Biology... I know where the stolen items are!” Sherlock walked purposefully towards the door, ignoring John’s protests that it was after eleven. So what? John didn’t have to come. He would, though. It was so obvious, the clue! Alive. The room where biology kept their various animals. That was the final problem. Finding the items themselves.  
It took Sherlock no time to sneak away from corridor 221, John following him, and go down into the Biology department. Locating the room was a doddle. Sherlock flicked the lights on and closed the door behind them.

“Right, we’re looking for any items on the list.” Sherlock surveyed the room with a frown, hands on his hips. Thus the searching proceeded.

It did not take long for John to find what Sherlock needed. Sherlock hopped over to where John had called from. A food cupboard seemingly. Ah, there they were. On the same shelf as the crickets. Sherlock carefully picked up the items, checking them over. They were the right items but...

“There’s only ten! Why are there only ten?! There should be twenty!” Sherlock nearly threw the items to the ground in frustration. “This isn’t right!” And the teenager really disliked it when he got something wrong. Miscalculated. There was still something more to this and he didn’t like it. And no one would listen to him, realise there was something more. This was just like Carl Powers... wait, hold that thought. Sherlock frowned and put it somewhere safe. To be looked at later.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. We found the items. Let’s go return them.” John carefully took what Sherlock was holding, probably worried about what he would do with them, and headed for the door. Sherlock sighed. Even John believed that that was the end of it. Sherlock turned to give the shelves one more glance over. Something caught his eye. A note.

_“Well done, Sherlock. But can you solve the case?  
-JM”_


	11. Dreading The Holidays? What Is Wrong With You?

The months after their discovery, leading up to the Christmas holidays, were mostly uneventful. Sherlock had withdrawn back into himself with the claims that the case wasn’t solved. As a result he was barely sleeping and eating; only doing so when John managed to convince him to, which was rarely. Sherlock had also begun continually skipping classes. What baffled John was that he still achieved high grades in all his mini tests (which he claimed were pointless). But then again Sherlock was Sherlock.

The one good thing about those months was their visits to the clearing. John now ‘escorted’ Sherlock daily so he could smoke, which John had decided he was going to try and help Sherlock stop. John liked to think that it was then that he saw the true Sherlock. Almost vulnerable, really needing a friend. One who could actually hold a decent conversation. And was a damn good kisser.

The fifteen year old still hadn’t fully opened up to John and he doubted that he ever would. John knew he liked him as more than a friend, maybe even loved him. Every time they touched it seemed like it was meant to be. John wasn’t sure if Sherlock felt the same way. Wouldn’t find out any time soon what with school breaking up for the holidays that very day.

But at least he had Sherlock’s phone number. They could keep in touch.

“Come on, Sherlock, Christmas can’t be that bad!” John exclaimed as the two boys walked down the stairs out of the school, suitcases rolling behind them. A light layer of snow coated the ground around them and there was a frosty nip to the air. Sherlock was wrapped up as warm as ever, breath curling from his pursed lips.

“I just don’t do Christmas. Never have.” John arched an eyebrow. He doubted the truth behind those words. He must have loved Christmas once, as a little boy! Unless he had had a worse upbringing than John had first guessed.

“Sure. Anyway you’ll be able to text or call me whenever you want! Maybe you could stay at mine after Christmas for a bit?” John suggested this with a soft smile, glancing up at the dark haired boy.

“Depends, I’d probably have to ask my parents... or sneak out...” Sherlock suddenly stopped where they were, half way down to the car park filled with parents and children, pale lips curled in barely concealed disgust. John followed the other boy’s multicoloured gaze to where it seemed to be fixed on a man waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Early twenties, John guessed, with ginger-brown hair beginning to bald at the front. He held an umbrella in his right hand and a neutral expression on his face.

“Relative?” John questioned quietly as they continued to walk.

“Brother,” Sherlock grimaced slightly in reply before replacing it with a cold mask. John just nodded, stopping as they reached the man.

“Ah, dear brother,” The man smiled at Sherlock, so obviously fake. There was no love between these two, John could tell. Whether it had always been like that or not he couldn’t guess.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock’s tone was polite, more formal than normal, with ice coursing through it. “Mother and father didn’t have time to collect their favourite son?” John tried not to laugh at Sherlock’s sarcasm. A talent that he had picked up from John.

“They are busy,” Mycroft replied primly, eyes flickering to John. “Who’s this?”

“John,” Sherlock snapped, folding his arms with a childish scowl.

“His friend,” John added with a slight, not quite genuine, smile.

“Friend?” Mycroft laughed in an amused manner. “Sherlock has no friends. Never has. I doubt he has had a sudden change of heart.”

“Well he does have a friend now,” John retorted, running a hand through his blond hair. He could see why the two didn’t get on.

“Actually Mycroft is correct... for once,” Sherlock sounded so formal, full of himself, that John just wanted to slap him. Anyway, what was Sherlock saying?!

“I have no friends,” Sherlock continued. John bunched his hands into fists. That turncoat! “Just one, dear brother, just one.” Phew. John had though Sherlock had been about to completely disregard him as a friend. It was a relief when he didn’t. Although it was Sherlock so who knew what he thought...

Mycroft had arched an eyebrow, looking sceptical. John felt the urge to smirk but resisted. He glanced around, noticing his family not that far away in the crowd searching for him. Harry looked incredibly impatient. Grumpy. He better go join them. Stop their worrying.

“Sorry, Sherlock, I’ve got to go. Text me, alright?” He smiled, beginning to head towards his family. “See you!” He shouted to Sherlock, waving and getting one in return. Then he was in his family’s line of sight and attacked by a rather large hug from his mum.

“Hi, mum,” John smiled as he disentangle himself. He nodded to Harry, who was twirling hair around her finger. Obviously was staying over at their parents’ house and forced to come pick up her little baby brother. John almost laughed. 

Then there was his father, a rather imposing man even if he was only of average height. His hair was darker than the rest of his family’s, his eyes as blue as John’s. A war veteran. Going back to serve away with the army after Christmas. He wouldn’t tell his family where he was going. John didn’t really want to know.

“Son,” he nodded in greeting, looking rather stern. “Still doing well? Good grade prospects? Set on going to university?”

“Yes, dad,” John replied, folding his arms slightly. “I’ve applied to quite a few universities and got replies from some. I’ll do my five years to become a doctor.” His father nodded again, a slight smile appearing on his face.

“If that’s what you want to do, son. But keep an open mind; you can always join the army as a doctor. Now... let’s go home! Loads of preparation are needed for Christmas.” John smiled, following his family towards their car. He was looking forward to Christmas, always did. But it wouldn’t be the same because he would know somewhere out there Sherlock would be having a rotten time.

God he already missed Sherlock and his strange ways.


	12. Family Fun? Far From It.

“So, a friend?” Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock, who was sitting rather grumpily in the sleek black car with his hands clasped. Brilliant. His brother was trying to make conversation. Why was he even bothering? It wasn’t like they got on. Sherlock had once looked up to Mycroft; adored him. That had change a long time ago.

“Yes, a friend,” Sherlock eventually replied evenly and mostly out of politeness. His many coloured gaze flickered to the window in an attempt to stop Mycroft from speaking to him.

“So you go from having no friends at all to sharing a dorm with another boy who you quickly befriend in half a year. How unlike you, Sherlock, it must raise some suspicions.”

Sherlock arched a dark eyebrow delicately at his brother, taking some time before replying. “I would not know what those suspicions might be.” After that he turned his head to face the window, ignoring all further conversation attempts from Mycroft.  
A certain sense of almost dread settled on Sherlock as the mansion that was supposedly his home came into sight. He brushed it off, ignoring it. Emotions were a weakness. They wouldn’t help him here. He had learnt that from a young age. 

“Welcome home, dear brother,” Mycroft spoke in a rather patronising manner as he got out of the car.

“Such a pleasure,” Sherlock followed, face as cold as ever. “Please tell me you are not staying for Christmas. They had begun to get slightly better without your presence.”

“Ah, I am indeed staying. Father has... plans.” Sherlock made a face at Mycroft’s back as he began to walk towards the grand doors being held open by servants. Sherlock scowled slightly as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and followed Mycroft into the mansion. As he had suspected his parents were lurking in the main hall, at the bottom of the flight of stairs leading up to the next level where Sherlock’s room was situated.

“Mother, Father.” Sherlock kept his tone as respectful as ever, brushing past them to begin walking up the stairs. “I’m going to my room.”

“You will not go to your room.” Sherlock spun around at his father’s commanding voice.

“I will.” 

“You will not. We have important things to discuss so you will come to the drawing room with us.” Sherlock did not like the sounds of that. Not one bit.

“I do not wish to.” Sherlock had turned to face his family, expression icy. Looking old beyond his years. Even more so than normal.

“There is no option as to whether you will or not.” Sherlock’s father looked ready to drag him to the drawing room. Mycroft was giving him a look that was telling him to comply. Must be something very important.

“Fine.” Sherlock dumped his suitcase where he was standing in the middle of the stairs before heading back down. He disliked doing as he was told but had no wish for physical contact to be involved. So he was going to listen to what his father wanted to say.

“Good.” His father’s smile was thing as he turned and strode towards the drawing room. The rest of the Holmes family followed him.

The drawing room was as lavish as every other room in the house. The chairs were leather with silk covers, the small table in the centre polished mahogany. Mr Holmes sat in a chair near this table, indicating for the rest of his family to do the same. Mycroft and his mother sat in two chairs right next to him forcing Sherlock to sit opposite. It felt like an interrogation. It might as well be one.

“What is it you want to say?” Sherlock reverted to sullen teenager mode, pulling his knees up to his chest. This caused him to gain glares from the rest of his family which he just ignored.

“We must discuss Christmas arrangements,” his mother began primly, eyes narrowed at her youngest son.

“Bo-ring!” Sherlock groaned, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“This is important, boy! Listen to your mother!” Sherlock’s father practically spat. Oh great he was in a bad mood. Sherlock knew better than to antagonise him. He had learnt from experience. 

“Fine,” Sherlock grumbled giving his mother half of his attention.

“This year we are hosting a Christmas dinner for many important... contacts,” Sherlock’s mother started again. “Very important contacts. You will be expected to attend the meal, on your best behaviour, and also play your violin as entertainment.” Sherlock could feel the eyes of all of his family on him.

“And I though Christmas couldn’t get any worse,” Sherlock remarked drily, tugging at his black curls.

“Boy, you will do as you mother said or the consequences will be dire!” Yep, his father was definitely in a bad mood. Better leave soon.

“As you wish, father,” Sherlock looked at him evenly, hiding any fear he felt at the threat. An emotion. Pointless. “Is that all? May I leave?”

“Yes, you are dismissed,” his father replied tightly. Sherlock didn’t afford a second glance at his family as he jumped up and ran out of the room. Christmas was going to be hell.


	13. Deck The Halls With Bells Of Holly

John woke with a sense of excitement in the pit of his stomach. Christmas was here! A day with his family all coming round to his house, celebrating. His family wasn’t exactly large but it was never a dull affair. Grinning widely John sat bolt upright on his bed, grabbing his phone to check for messages. There were four. Two whole hearted ones from Molly and Lestrade, wishing him a merry Christmas and promising to exchange presents at John’s New Year’s Eve party, and two half hearted ones from Sally and Anderson. None from Sherlock. He hadn’t expected any but he still couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He quickly replied to the ones he’d gotten before sending one to Sherlock with the contents _Merry Christmas xxx._ He doubted that he’d get a reply. After all it was Sherlock. So who knew?

A light smile framed John’s face as he got up and ready for the day. He pulled on his best checked shirt, a snug wool jumper and some nice trousers. Nothing fancy. When he was younger he would always run downstairs to the living room in his pyjamas, raring to open the presents from Santa in his stocking above the fireplace. Santa no longer visited (he knew the truth) but his two younger cousins would undoubtedly be full of the tales of the marvellous presents they got.

“Morning mum, dad!” John called as he ran down the stairs and into the kitchen nearby. His mother was making fresh pancakes, the tempting smells making his mouth water, and his father was reading a newspaper at the small four person table. They normally ate in there rather than in the dining room. There was no sign of Harry. She was undoubtedly still asleep in preparation for whatever large Christmas party she was going to attend before returning in the early hours of the morning drunk.  
“Harry not up yet?” John commented wryly as he sat down, running a hand through his hair. 

“Nope!” His mum replied brightly as she flipped a pancake. “I’ll go wake her when the pancakes are ready. Then presents before everyone else arrives!”

“Great!” John grinned, leaning back. His phone buzzed causing him to pull it out, shocked at the announcement that he had a text from Sherlock. 

_I presume this is where I’m meant to wish you a ‘Merry Christmas.’ –SH_

John smirked as he typed up a reply. _Yes. Have a good day. BTW my mum says its fine for you stay whenever you want._ John was surprised at the speed that he got a reply.

 _I won’t. Oh, great. –SH_ John rolled his eyes, pocketing his phone as he heard another person enter the room. Harry. He hadn’t expected her to get up of her own accord.

“Morning, sis,” John’s tone was teasing as Harry sat down beside him with a grumpy glare. She so obviously had a hangover.  
“Just in time for breakfast, Harry dear!” Their mum announced as she place a plate piled with steaming pancakes. John grinned, blue eyes glued to the food. Christmas was already looking up.

“I’ll go get the presents!” Their mum continued brightly, scurrying out of the room.

Soon the family of four was digging into pancakes and exchanging presents. John received a Harry’s old phone from her (she claimed to be broke) and all the course books he needed for his first year at university from his parents. He had already found one leaflet about the army jammed into a book. Undoubtedly there’d be more lying about.

The day gradually got busier as more family arrived before the Christmas dinner. By the end the total stood at twelve. The four Watsons, three cousins, two aunts, two uncles and a grandmother. Two cousins were quite a bit younger than John, the other Harry’s age. Of course John got stuck with the job of looking after the six and eight year old while they were in the house. Yippee.  
Thankfully the day went by reasonably quickly with dinner being a typical fun Christmas one and more presents being given. John ended the day with quite a few more wool jumpers, shirts and loads of vouchers. People really were getting uninventive.

Though it had been a good, rather entertaining day John was glad to retire to his room after everyone was gone. The silence was welcome as John plopped onto his bed in preparation to read through his new course book. His actions were interrupted by the beeping of his phone, though, and a text.

_Coming to stay at yours. Be there in fifteen minutes. Things bad at home. –SH_


	14. He Knows If You've Been Bad Or Good... I'm Stuffed

Sherlock stayed in bed for as long as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was see his family. His father. He had distracted himself from thoughts of the upcoming day by texting John and pondering over the thieveries. But it was nearing midday so he would undoubtedly be forced to get ready soon. He really didn’t want to participate in his parents’ Christmas dinner with important contacts. People were so fickle and he disliked talking to them. It was only mildly entertaining when he aggravated them. Which was out of the question here. That would annoy his father. Sherlock had no wish to cross his father.

Somehow he doubted that that was unavoidable.

“Sherlock!” There it was. He could no longer hide out in his room, crowded with all his experiments. The shout was followed by continuous banging on his door. Sherlock smirked. He was glad that he had put a bolt on it.

“Sherlock open up this instance! The guests arrive in an hour and you need to get ready. Father is already annoyed enough as it is!” Sherlock rolled his eyes, slowly dragging himself out of his bed and slipping over to the door. He took painfully long to unbolt it before opening it to give his brother access. 

Mycroft stepped in carrying what seemed to be a suit. Stupid. Sherlock took one look and it and curled his lips up in distaste.

“I don’t wear ties,” he snapped, sitting down on his bed grumpily. It was bad enough wearing one at school where it didn’t really matter how it was worn (more often than not Sherlock just didn’t bother with it). Now he had to wear one to some stupid fancy dinner? Ugh.

“You will wear it whether you like it or not,” Mycroft gritted his teeth. “Father won’t be too pleased if you don’t.” There was a warning in his tone. For once Sherlock decided to heed that warning.

“Fine,” Sherlock waved his hands at his brother in some sort of dismissal.

“Be down in half an hour,” Mycroft added before leaving. Sherlock scowled, looking down at the new suit in disgust. This was going to be a tedious day...

Sherlock was bored. Standing at the front door greeting guests with his parents and brother was so boring. Boring, boring, boring. Even deducing their lives was boring. How he hated this. At least he didn’t really have to talk to people. Only shake their hands and smile as they greeted him. But soon this phase ended and the dreaded one began. Dinner.

“Be polite,” Mr Holmes held Sherlock back before they entered the dining room. “Or else.”

Sherlock nodded curtly, heading in and finding his seat. He was placed so that both Mycroft and their father could overhear his conversation. How wonderful.

“So you are the younger Holmes boy.” The man beside him tried to strike up a conversation. Brilliant, just what Sherlock wanted. He was obviously important. Government, reasonably old, probably from Mycroft’s line of work.

“I’ve not heard a lot about you. If you’re anything like Mycroft you’ve got a good future ahead of you.” Oh, he was still talking. Sherlock half paid attention as he picked at his food. “Which school do you go to?”

“St Bartholomew’s,” Sherlock replied purely out of politeness. 

“Ah,” the man nodded. “How long have you been there?”

“Half a year.”

“Only half a year?”

“Third school.”

“Third?! Why have you moved so much, young man?” Sherlock could feel Mycroft’s warning look but ignored it this time. He was just being polite like he had been told to be. Just maybe having some fun with it.

“I blew up a science lab accidently and was caught experimenting with supposedly illegal substances.” Sherlock restrained a smirk as his father’s glare found him. 

“Now that’s not good behaviour.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t like the school anyway, what with the bullying and terribly boring lessons.” Sherlock wouldn’t normally spill his thoughts to a stranger like this but he knew it would annoy his family. Which was fun.

“Bullying?” This man had a habit of repeating what Sherlock said. “Surely you should have talked to somebody about that.”

“Nobody cared or cares. Anyway, at home I got worse a-” Sherlock was cut off by his father suddenly standing. One look and he knew the he had gone too far. He could already feel Mycroft’s pitying look. He didn’t need any pity.

“Sherlock Holmes, if you would step outside this instance.” His father almost sounded like a teacher telling off a pupil. But more angry, trying to keep it under control. With a worse punishment coming up. Sherlock slowly stood and walked towards the nearest door, face emotionless. He didn’t even have to look at his mother or Mycroft to know the expressions on their faces. His mother wouldn’t care, probably more concerned about her nails or keeping the attention of their guests. Mycroft looked sympathetic but would not make any move to stop what was about to happen. They shared no love.

As soon as the door was shut behind them Sherlock was grabbed by his father and dragged to the office he had grown to dread entering. Into this he was shoved, door shut and blocking any route of escape.

“You stupid boy! YOU do not speak about private matters to others!”

“I was just being polite like you said to be,” Sherlock retorted, backing away slowly. He saw the punch before it came but it still connected with his jaw and knocked him backwards into the desk. This was followed by more blows, constantly raining down on Sherlock until he was curled into a ball trying not to cry out in pain. He felt a few ribs crack and a stickiness that could only be blood forming at his head and back. He would be badly bruised for weeks to come.

Eventually his father stopped, leaving Sherlock where he was on the floor lying in his own blood. Undoubtedly going back to the oh so important party. Sherlock tried to stand only to be hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness. So instead he settled for crawling in a rather undignified manner. He reached his room after a while, managing to bolt the door.  
Then he blacked out.

Sherlock swam back into consciousness after who knew how long. He didn’t bother checking the time. He hurt all over and knew he had lost a lot of blood. There wasn’t much he could do, however. Only one thing was on his mind. Escape. Getting away from here. Pushing back tears of pain Sherlock groggily found his phone and sent John a text.

_Coming to stay at yours. Be there in fifteen minutes. Things bad at home. –SH_

Now to get out. He’d have to walk. It wasn’t all that far though. Sherlock had already looked up John’s address and knew a few shortcuts. His injuries wouldn’t help but he’d have to make do. Two minutes stuffing books, clothes and transportable experiment (not necessarily in the order) into a bag and he was ready to go.

He took the back door out, careful to avoid any people. His left leg had been kicked quite brutally, inducing a limp, and he stumbled due to being rather disorientated. He got out unnoticed, though, escaping into the darkness of the streets of London.  
It took longer than fifteen minutes to get to John’s house. Much longer. Almost an hour, actually. But now here he was outside a rather nice looking place, leaning against the door heavily. He texted John to tell him of his arrival; he really didn’t want the other boy’s parents to get involved. That would be a worst case scenario.

John was thankfully quick at getting to the door. Sherlock let a light smile frame his face, glancing down at the beautiful blue eyes that had shock shimmering through them.

“Hello John.” That was all Sherlock got a chance to say before he fainted into the blond’s arms.


	15. He's Unconscious On My Bed... How Awkward

John anxiously paced the space beside his bed, tugging at the corner of his jumper as he checked for any sign of change in Sherlock. None. John had removed the majority of the younger boy’s clothes so he could tend to the worst wounds as best as possible with his first aid kit. He sincerely hoped his parent’s didn’t decide to randomly walk in. Considering that Sherlock was on his bed near naked and unconscious. Not a good combo. 

His sudden fainting at the door had been a bit of a shock for John. Well, that was an understatement. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to turn up so battered. Now John was worried. Very worried. More than worried, actually. John was quite frankly terrified for the younger boy’s health. He’d managed to bandage and clean most of the major wounds but two ribs were broken and there was nothing he could do about that.

Sighing softly John carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Making sure he didn’t disturb Sherlock. Almost subconsciously John began to run his hand almost comfortingly through Sherlock’s now rather messy black curls, staring down at the unconscious boy. He was almost unhealthily skinny, with his ribs well defined under pale skin. Here and there there were large scars that suggested to John that this wasn’t the first time Sherlock had been in this state. Along with these there were numerous small, almost perfectly straight cuts running up his arms. The sight of them sickened John. He knew exactly what they were from.

“John?” The croaking voice wrenched John’s eyes from the scars to the stunning eyes that had just flickered open.

“Sherlock,” John smiled softly, moving so his face was over the other boy’s. “What happened?”

“My father,” Sherlock’s reply was curt as he tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down by John.

“You need to rest.” John spoke softly, eyes ringed with concern. He decided not to press anymore on the matter concerning Sherlock’s father. “Stay here, I’ve got something for you.” He jumped, careful to keep an eye on Sherlock as he made his way over to his chest of drawers. After a bit of rummaging he found what he needed. A small, carefully bound package. Heading back to Sherlock he handed it over. “Merry Christmas.” 

Sherlock looked at the present in confusion, perched on his elbows now. John guessed that he wasn’t sure why he’d been given it.

“Go on, open it,” John laughed, a soft smile on his lips. Sherlock arched an eyebrow slightly and winced as he shifted his position to unwrap the item. After doing so he proceeded to stare at the blue striped scarf in his hands. An almost smile flashed across his face as he carefully wrapped it around his neck.

“It smells like you.” John chuckled at that comment, rolling his eyes. Trust Sherlock to say something like that rather than thank you. Not that John had expected one.

“I admit I wore it once or twice to see what it was like,” John tugged his hair. “I thought you might like it because your old one is a bit ragged.”

“I like it. But... I don’t have anything for you.” John so the genuinely worried look Sherlock so often held when it came to their relationship. Fearing that he had done something wrong.

“I know. I don’t need anything from you.” John grinned mischievously as a thought crossed his mind. “Well there is one thing...” Not waiting for a reply John moved closer to Sherlock, pressing his lips to the other boy’s. Careful not to touch any of his injuries. Sherlock happily returned the kiss and soon their lips were moving together passionately. John put his hands on both sides of Sherlock’s head, moving so he was hovering right above him. The kiss was better than the last one, if that was even possible, lips slightly parted and tongues occasionally touching. John closed his eyes and allowed the perfection of the moment to wash over him. The bliss. But eventually it had to be broken, Sherlock being the one to do so. He seemed out of breath from even a short kiss, eyes flickering open and closed. John moved over to lie next to him, checking the time. Midnight. Almost absentmindedly as he lay there one of his hands brushed along Sherlock’s arm. Felt the scars.

“What did you do to yourself, Sher?” John glanced at Sherlock, whose eyes were now closed.

“It was a stage I went through. It helped me escaped from my mind but I found other ways. Anyway, I realised emotions were pointless so it no longer helped with mental ‘grief’ or whatever.” Sherlock’s voice was little more than a whisper, exhausted and full of a pain yet still devoid of feelings. John frowned, shaking his head slightly.

“Get some sleep, Sher,” he gently kissed Sherlock on the cheek before getting up to find a mattress to sleep on.

“John?” John turned back to look at Sherlock whose voice sounded so weak. Vulnerable. “Can you... sleep next to me?” 

John smiled, knowing what it meant and doubting it would happen again. He went back over to the bed and took up what little space was left, one arm moving to drape around Sherlock. Then he pulled the covers over them and let sleep claim him.


	16. New Years’ Love? Bit Confusing

“Come on, Sherlock, people will be arriving soon. Stop being a grump and come downstairs with me.” Sherlock shook his head stubbornly, arms folded. He sat on the mattress that had been his makeshift bed since arriving at John’s all battered. He was recovering well, though. It didn’t hurt at all. He was used to pain.

But now John was forcing him to attend some stupid New Years Eve party. Ugh. He had to wear something nice and everything. Unfortunately for him after fleeing his house Mycroft had managed to track him down which resulted in an unwelcome visit. Mycroft had even pretended to be concerned. Bleh. Bringing over his experiments and some more clothes. Which meant Sherlock had plenty of nice ones to choose form.

“I don’t want to.” Sherlock scowled. He was wearing what he always did, which was more formal than what most wore anyway. John wore a checked shirt and jersey, which he looked so cute in.

“Come on, Sher!” John strode over to him and grabbed his hand, yanking him up. “If you don’t I’ll force you to move into the spare room.” Sherlock’s eyes suddenly to John. Now that was a threat he didn’t like. Loathe as he was to admit it the only reason he wasn’t having nightmares, as he often did after being in contact with his father, was John’s presence at night. Sherlock hated the bad dreams he had. Just reminded him of the weakness of emotion. That horrible thing. Fear.

“Fine, I’ll attend,” Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the door. “But I’m not promising to be nice to anyone.” 

John chuckled. “You don’t have to be.” The sudden annoying ringing sound that was the doorbell infiltrated Sherlock’s ears.  
“That’s the first person!” John grinned, running down the stairs with Sherlock in tow.

Sherlock grumbled under his breath as he sat on a chair in John’s kitchen drinking a glass of lemonade. Music blared from the room next door and the silhouettes of those dancing could just be seen. Sherlock had been surprised at the amount of people invited what with John’s tight, rather small friendship group. Thankfully none were in the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts. They were all dancing or outside. Drinking copious amounts of alcohol also, most like.

God Sherlock needed a smoke. The last thing he wanted to do was venture into backyard where a horde of drunk teens awaited. Nor did he want to do it in John’s house; betray his trust. One hand clenched as the other reached into the pocket where his cigarettes were. It had been a struggle keeping up his daily habit when in the Watson’s household. But he had managed. Ignoring John’s worry but fearing deep down inside that he was disgusted.

“What are you doing in here alone?” Sherlock glanced up at the voice, so stammering and quiet, and narrowed his eyes. The girl that had entered had a nervous look as she moved over to sit opposite him. What was her name? Ah, he remembered now. Molly Hooper. He glanced over her sceptically, noticing how fancily her mouse brown hair was done and the effort she’d made when it came to make up. Dressed to impress. Obviously the person she fancied was at the party. He didn’t really think on who it might be.

“I prefer my own thoughts to conversation.” And people. Unless it was John. “Anyway, I have no like for parties.” Sherlock made a face though his eyes held their cold mask. One which only John could get through.

Damn it why was the older boy forever in his thoughts?! He had known coming to stay here was a bad idea. John was messing with his mind. His perfect mind.

“Is it not a bit boring?” Sherlock fixed Molly with a hard stare at that question.

“People are boring,” he replied nonchalantly. “Shouldn’t you be dancing or chasing the guy you like or something?” It was a brisk dismissal.

“I.... I guess I should...” Molly stammered, suddenly standing and scurrying out the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Stupid, normal girl.

“No need to be so harsh.” Now that took him by surprise. The voice was sweet to his ears, originating from the shadow standing in the doorframe. How long had he been there? How long had he been there?! How had Sherlock not noticed? Stupid, stupid!

“I wasn’t harsh,” Sherlock retorted, tugging at his curls. He suddenly felt irritated by all the insignificant people, like pesky bugs! Why did he have to be here? He could be having a smoke instead!

“You were, Sher.” Trust John to be blunt. Sherlock rolled his eyes and met John’s rather annoyed gaze evenly. There was no doubt of his reason for talking to Sherlock. Why couldn’t he just go away? Leave Sherlock in peace?

“Come on and take part, Sher,” John spoke softly, sitting where Molly had been only moments before. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He glanced at John, who looked rather good, before staring into his emotion filled eyes. He almost couldn’t resist that look.

“Why?” Sherlock reverted to a sullen tone he often used.

“Because...” John glanced at his watch. “It’s eight minutes till midnight and we’re gather outside.”  
“So?”

“I want you to come so you’re there when it’s midnight.”

“Will I have to wish everyone a Happy New Year and kiss them like custom dictates.”  
“Probably, yes. You can maybe avoid the kissing.”

“Don’t want to go.” Sherlock made a face. “Just want a smoke.” John sighed. Sherlock half glowered at him. It was hard to stay annoyed at John for long with that cute sigh of his.

“If you come out I’ll take you to a hidden bit in my garden so you can smoke, kay?” John was obviously trying to compromise. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and gave in yet again that day.

“Fine, I’m coming,” Sherlock stood in an exhausted manner causing John to flash him a teasing grin. Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his watch. Four minutes, twenty eight seconds to go. Stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets he followed John through the doors leading outdoors. Darkness greeted him combated only by torches held by individuals. Sherlock’s eyes soon adjusted. Noting the great number of teenagers, most drunk, he decided to stick by John. A good plan. So he quickly followed the blond boy to a small group. Those they hung around at school. Sherlock recognised them instantly.

Sally and Anderson were both drunk and had obviously been making out in some dark place only moments before. Sherlock wouldn’t have been shocked if they went home together. Lestrade was sober but had drunk a bit of alcohol. A sensible person. Molly was looking a bit tipsy, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. Strange.

“Why did you have to bring over the freak? Even worse, invite him?” Sally drawled, her glare not affecting Sherlock at all.

“Sherlock is not a freak,” John snapped, moving closer to Sherlock in an almost protective manner. Sherlock tried not to look amused by that. After all Sherlock wasn’t at all bothered by the comment. Not when it was from someone as insignificant as Sally.

“Yeh, he shouldn’t be here, he’s-” Anderson was suddenly, and thankfully, cut off by the loud chanting taken up by those around them.

“10, 9.” Those around Sherlock joined in, Anderson and Sally moving away.

“8, 7.” John looked at Sherlock, an attempt to get him to say the numbers also. He didn’t. What was the point? It was just a stupid countdown!

“6, 5.” Molly seemed to be glancing at Sherlock. He didn’t really notice. Too focused on John to make sure they could flee before he had to wish too many people a happy New Year.

“4, 3.” John moved closer to Sherlock and discretely took a hold of his hand. Sherlock let a thin smile form on his face.

“2, 1.” A large cheer rose at the end of the countdown, followed by fireworks lighting the sky in many colours from all directions. Sherlock didn’t take the time to follow their trail. Instead he was dragging John away towards what seemed to be an empty corner of the garden. John chuckled and changed their route so they ended up hidden behind three trees and some bushes at the bottom of the garden. Without a moment’s hesitation Sherlock had lighter and cigarette out, already taking a first drag.  
John frowned, hit by worry. Of how bad it was for Sherlock’s health. Admittedly he did look sexy smoking. The way his lips formed around the cigarette as he breathed in, an o shape as he blew out. John watched Sherlock hungrily. Waiting for him to finish. Then he pounced.

Practically darting over to the taller boy he wrapped his arms around his neck and crashed their lips together. It was a kiss driven by passion, almost sloppy but brilliant all the same. Sherlock hadn’t expected to be attacked with such ferocity. After a moment of shock he melted into the kiss, arms wrapped around John’s waist. Their tongues tangled and Sherlock could feel one of John’s hands holding his curls. Almost smirking Sherlock let his hands slowly lower before he was gripping John’s ass. It felt so right. John’s shocked then pleased reaction made it all the better. The two were now held flush together. Able to feel each movement of the other. Their bodies moulded perfectly to each other. Meant to be.

John broke the kiss momentarily, moving away slightly to slowly unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. This Sherlock didn’t mind, the occasional brush of John’s fingers against his skin sending slight shivers through him. John must have been pretty confident about not being found in this place.

Soon John had pulled off Sherlock’s shirt and was moving in again. But his lips had a different destination. They found Sherlock’s neck, latching on and sucking gently. Occasionally a tongue found his skin. Sherlock let out a quiet moan, almost unable to do anything as various sensations bombarded him. John was so good at this.

Somehow he managed to get his arms to work well enough so that he could unbutton John’s shirt, removing it so they were both half naked. What he saw would have taken the breath out of him if it had not already been removed due to John’s kissing at his neck. John had some muscles. Well defined on lightly tanned skin. Perfection. Sherlock couldn’t help but run his hands up and down those muscles, tracing all of the lines. He felt John give out a little moan, vibrating through Sherlock’s skin. He had never felt like this before. Truthfully he had never been with anyone before. At all.

He almost groaned in disappointment as John’s lips left his neck. John’s eyes shone in amusement, which only served to annoy Sherlock.

“I can’t believe something so perfect is mine,” John spoke quietly, huskily. Sherlock automatically blushed. Felt self conscious. Awkward. Wasn’t used to these situations. No, not at all.

“You’re... you’re not that bad yourself,” Sherlock stammered feeling so unlike himself. Lost for words. John chuckled.

“You’re cute when flustered.” Thankfully their lips collided again saving Sherlock from having to speak (he never thought he would say that). The kiss was once again full of passion, tongue wrestling included. Sherlock’s hands ran up and down John’s back, feeling each line. Revelling in the perfectly sculpted body. John’s hands seemed to be moving lower and lower down before they reached Sherlock’s ass. Sherlock hoped John liked his as much as he had liked John’s. The feel of it, the perfect curve. Nothing more could be asked for.

The kiss was long and steamy, both able to keep going for ages on end. But for some reason John pulled away. Again. Damn why did he have to keep doing that?! It was so freaking infuriated. Luckily he did not increase the space between them. Instead he pressed closer to Sherlock, if that was even possible. Sherlock helped of course, pulling him closer. Locking his arms around John’s waist. John seemed to be standing on his tip toes so his mouth could reach Sherlock’s ear. He gave the earlobe a quick nip before whispering into it.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

More shock than ever before jolted through Sherlock. What? He couldn’t... how did he... was he sure... Sherlock wasn’t... why... emotion... weak... meaning... what... SHUT UP! Sherlock tried to quieten the multitude of voice in his head.

“John...” John put a finger on Sherlock’s lips. 

“Say nothing.” Then his fingers were replaced by a kiss. More passionate than the others. More full of... love? And John’s hands once more moved further and further down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered, when rereading through this chapter, that it is incredibly embarrassing reading your own romance scenes. I'm normal fine with most types of romance especially those involving romance. But when I've written it... I just find it awkward.  
> Sorry for this chapter, anyway. I'm not so good at writing those types of scenes xD


	17. It's My Birthday?

John woke with a slight groan, rolling over and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It was 8am. Why on earth had he woken up at 8am? Maybe it was excitement for the day. Probably.

Sitting up with a yawn John noticed the distinct absence of Sherlock. Brilliant, he hoped he hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch again. Unfortunately that was highly likely. He should probably go down and wake him. That was going to be fun... Sighing to himself John rolled out of bed and grabbed a parcel from under it. Then reluctantly he headed downstairs.

“Sherlock, wake up,” John spoke in a stage whisper, poking the younger boy on the nose. Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa with his hands pressed together under his chin. He’d obviously been deep in thought before drifting off into a deep slumber.  
John continually poked Sherlock, eventually waking the other boy. Multicoloured eyes stared up at him, filled with mild annoyance and words formed on lips. John didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Happy birthday!” John exclaimed brightly, grinning. Sherlock appeared shocked. Momentarily.

“It’s my birthday? How did you know that?”

“Indeed it is,” John chuckled. “Mycroft told me when he dropped off your stuff. We can do whatever you want today but we’re going out for dinner tonight.” Sherlock groaned. John just smirked, sitting down next to him.

“Yes, you have to come. Whether you want to or not.” John cut Sherlock off before he could complain. “Here, I got you something to wear.”

John watched eagerly as Sherlock delicately unwrapped his first present of the day. He appeared to be looking in disbelief as the shirt it revealed. John had picked it out specially knowing it would look good on the other boy.

“Well go on, try it on!” John insisted.

“If I must wear it,” Sherlock sighed. John knew he secretly liked it. As such he kept his eyes glued to Sherlock as the tall boy pulled the new shirt on (he slept topless).

“It looks perfect on you.” John struggled to keep his voice calm. And indeed it did. The shirt was perfectly moulded and a little too tight, the top few buttons left undone. And the colour. It was a deep purple, maybe a hint of pink there, that lit up his eyes. Complimented his appearance. Sherlock looked sexy in that purple shirt with his hair tousled from just waking. John just wanted to kiss him. But he couldn’t in case his family walked in. Harry wouldn’t let him forget it if she saw. Hypocritical considering she liked girls.

“Does it really?” Sherlock was sceptical causing John to chuckle. Sherlock didn’t understand how great he looked in that shirt.

“Really, you suit it,” John nodded with a grin. “Now, what do you want to do today?”

“Work on the case.” Sherlock’s reply was instant, drawing a groan from John. Really? Of all the things he could choose to do? Trust Sherlock.

“Fine but you have to come to dinner. Promise?”

“Promise.”

John was quite surprised when Sherlock didn’t complain about going to dinner. Not one bit. Then again they had spent the whole day cooped up in John’s room pondering over the message Sherlock had got. And still nothing came to fruition from their labours.

“Well this is nice,” John smiled as they were led into a little Italian restaurant and towards a two person table. It was in a corner, a nice secluded area, giving them a bit of privacy. John liked that. Sherlock probably did too.

Boy did Sherlock look good... The purple shirt... John was fast thinking of it as the purple shirt of sex. Because he just looked so goddamn sexy in that thing! The rest of his outfit was normal for him. Black trousers, black shoes... definitely normal. And his smile... though small the smile he flashed John as they sat made John’s heart beat all the faster. It wasn’t helped by the candle flickering on the table between them or the general romantic atmosphere. 

“It’s not too bad,” Sherlock’s reply eventually came as he flicked through the menu.

“Trust you to say that,” John rolled his eyes. “So, sixteen and going to university in half a year. Pretty impressive.” Was that a light blush on Sherlock’s cheeks? John thought he would’ve gotten used to the praise by now.

“A whole year before Mycroft,” Sherlock pointed out smugly, managing to stay composed. John shook his head with a snort.  
“What are you doing at university? Wait let me guess, forensic science?”

“Very good, John, you’re beginning to observe,” Sherlock was half teasing. Good. He was beginning to relax. “And you are doing medicine, planning to become a doctor... and maybe join the army.” Sherlock frowned. Was that... concern? Fear? “Why would you join the army, John?”

“Because my dad wants me to,” John murmured. He was thankful for the interruption in the form of a waitress coming to take their orders. The army was a rather... touchy subject.

They ordered quickly, already knowing what they wanted. For Sherlock it was a salad (as normal) and water, for John lasagne and lemonade. John had the feeling that the younger boy was only ordering to placate him. 

“I brought your presents,” John smiled softly. Sherlock looked shocked, an expression John was getting used to. Maybe it was the thought of getting more than one gift. Poor Sherlock... he obviously wasn’t used to this kind of thing on his birthday. Having it properly celebrated.

“But I already got a present,” Sherlock frowned, his tone rather stiff. Eyes narrowed.

“Well I got you more. I also have some from Molly and Lestrade.” John began to rummage in the pockets of his coat. Luckily the presents were small and his coat pockets were big. “Here you go.” John handed over the parcels. All were labelled; who they were from.

“Well... These are unnecessary... I don’t need...”

“Just open them, Sher.” John cut him off yet again. Sherlock nodded slightly. He picked up the envelope first, from Lestrade, and carefully opened it. A £10 voucher. No reaction. Then the rectangular, larger parcel from Molly. A book on forensics. A slight smile as he looked it over. Obviously an interesting book. Then the final package. Rather small, it was another gift from John. Who worried about what Sherlock would think of it. He opened it with great care, bringing the item out to inspect it. It was a rectangular piece of black plastic. Sherlock pulled the two sides of it to reveal a magnifying glass in between. He snapped it shut.

“I thought it’d be handy,” John smiled. “I also... got you some nicotine patches, which are at home, to try and stop your smoking habit.

“Thank you, John.” It was a genuine thanks followed by Sherlock leaning over to kiss him. Tonight couldn’t get much better.


	18. A Murder? It's A Late Birthday Present!

“Don’t want to go to school,” Sherlock complained as he stuffed his clothes into a small suitcase. “Don’t want to.”

“Neither do I, Sher, but we have to. So shut up!” Sherlock smirked, glancing at John as he spoke. He looked cute in his uniform. It really suited him. Sherlock hated ties but on John they looked good.

“Why does my brother, of all people, have to take us?!” Sherlock ranted, slamming the suitcase lid shut. It was infuriating. The last thing he wanted was a two hour journey with his brother and John. Mycroft was just so... ugh. 

“Because my parents can’t take us and Mycroft offered,” John replied with an air of joy. It was going to be a torturous ride. “Come on, he’ll undoubtedly be waiting.” John pulled his suitcase out the door, rolling it down the stairs. Sherlock followed. After pulling on his coat and new scarf, of course. The latter still smelled of John. As suspected Mycroft’s fancy black car was waiting outside. The man himself was in the front passenger seat (obviously not wanting to sit in the back with John and Sherlock). The driver had gotten out to take their bags and John was already in the car. Sherlock got in next to him.

“Sherlock, John,” Mycroft turned around briefly to look at them.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock replied curtly as John just smiled with a slight nod. “The diet not working out for you again?” He smirked as Mycroft stiffened.

“I heard that you’re doing well with your recovery from smoking. How are the nicotine patches?” Was that all Mycroft could think of as a comeback? Pathetic.

“They’re very good, actually,” Sherlock glanced at John with a ‘kill me now’ look. He hated when his brother tried to make polite conversation. He preferred the silence in this case. When it was with people other than Mycroft Sherlock liked to be the one talking while they listened. It was a perfect combination.

Apart from when it was John.

But John was just the exception. Was always the exception. It frustrated Sherlock. The unstoppable feelings his traitorous brain was conjuring. He thought he had learned to stop emotions. Go about unfeeling. But John had changed all that. Ruined it you could say.

Then again one of those emotions had never been love. If that was what he felt. He still wasn’t sure.

He noticed John glancing at him with arched eyebrows and gave a forced smile. John smiled back slightly, one of his hands going over to cover Sherlock’s own. Sherlock felt a warm tingly feeling surge through his body at that. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. But it was nice. Coming from something as little as physical contact.

A sudden beeping interrupted the silence. Mycroft swiftly pulled out his mobile and put it to his ear.

“Mycroft Holmes speaking.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking out the window. Ignoring his brother’s annoying voice. Couldn’t be anything important. After all he wouldn’t be taking the call in the presence of Sherlock and John if it was.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft seemed to have put the call on hold to speak to Sherlock. Interesting. Time to pay attention. Sort of. “A boy was found dead in the school about an hour ago.”

“A murder?” Excitement flashed through Sherlock’s eyes. This was what he waited for! Hopefully it would be an interesting case. “Brilliant! Have they moved the body?”

“No, I don’t-“

“Great, make sure they don’t until I get there!”

“Sherlock it is highly unlikely that they will allow you onto the crime scene.”

“Please, Mycroft. For me?” Sherlock rarely used the word please but he knew when it was necessary to get what he wanted.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mycroft sighed, preparing to continue the phone call.

“Oh, and who was the victim?”

“Tom August,” Mycroft replied before speaking into his mobile. Tom August? His name was on the list. He had had an item stolen! So the plot was thickening...

“Only five minutes,” the police officer growled at Sherlock as he, John and Mycroft reached the classroom where the body was located.

“I won’t need any more time,” Sherlock replied stiffly as he took the gloves handed to him. John did the same. “Come, John. Let’s see what happened.” Sherlock tried not to smile as he entered the room. It was the biology classroom where the stolen goods had been hidden. Interesting. The body was lying face down in the centre of the room. A sixteen year old boy, middle class. Average grades with not much of interest about him really. He had a younger sibling. Gender unknown.

Now the cause of death. John bent down to investigate the body, pulling out the magnifier he had gotten for his birthday. It had been a gunshot. Obvious. Obvious.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, moving around the room. A bit off he found a mobile phone under a desk, half hidden. A new message had been started, the words ‘I’m here’ written. It had never been sent. All the most recent texts were to and from the same person.

JM.

Sherlock quickly typed the mobile number into his own phone. Then he looked up. Scratched into the wall were more numbers. All in pairs.

1,3 3,5 5,2 7,2 2,5 4,1 6,7 8,1

9,8 16,10 12,10 10,8 14,6 11,6 15,7 9,1

Sherlock quickly memorised them before heading back over to the door. John was still looking at the body. He quickly headed over to Sherlock when he saw that the other boy was leaving.

“What did you get?” Sherlock questioned.

“He was shot then the body was moved, as it’s not very likely that he fell like that.”  
“Good, we’ll make a detective of you yet,” Sherlock smiled before turning to the police officer that appeared to be in charge. “Officer, this whole thing is so painfully obvious. The murdered was almost definitely Sebastian Moran. Let me give you the facts. The victim was shot, from quite a distance. This is easy to tell by looking at the wound. Sebastian is the best marksman in the school. It was a school kid because there is no other reason for the murder. Check the bullet type against one of those in Sebastian’s rifles and you’ll see it is true. But he was not working alone, was rather the assassin. Tom was being threatened. His phone contained only messages to and from JM recently who is obviously the mastermind behind all this. Now the body was moved. Why? So it would look like the phone had been dropped before the victim was shot. You should be trying to find out who JM is, not who the murderer is. I suggest you question Sebastian, James Brook and Irene Adler.” With a slight nod to the shocked officer and handing over the victim’s phone, Sherlock grabbed his suitcase and headed for his room. Thoroughly pleased with himself.


	19. Sociopath Being Social? More Like Grumpy.

“You hear about Tom’s murder?” Lestrade was instantly questioning John as he sat down at their normal table for dinner. 

“Of course I did, who hasn’t?” John mumbled out as he began eating. Boy was he starving. Crime solving was hard work. Especially when it involved listening to Sherlock. Which it, unfortunately, did.

“They took Jim, Irene and Sebastian in for questioning,” Lestrade smirked. There was no love shared between them and John’s friendship group.

“That’s because Sebastian did it and Jim and Irene almost definitely know something about it,” Sherlock commented as he sat down, finally gracing them with his presence. It seemed he had a decent amount of food for once. Good.

“How do you know that, freak?” Sally sneered. John was surprised that Anderson and her still sat at this table. Considering they both expressed their hate for Sherlock to anyone that would listen.

“Because they let me inspect the body,” Sherlock retorted smugly.

“Ew, you’re such a psychopath!” At that Sally stood, stalking away to find another table to sit at. Anderson followed promptly.

“Sociopath,” Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes. John tried not to sigh. Truthfully it was a relief to no longer have Sally and Anderson there. They were just so annoying and infuriating. Got John all riled up.

“Don’t pay attention to them, they’re still annoyed after New Year’s Eve,” Lestrade chuckled. “Where you really allowed to look at the body? They wouldn’t let me. But I did get to ask the Detective Inspector some questions which was interesting.” Lestrade grinned widely. It was common knowledge that the job he aimed for was Detective Inspector.

“Yes I really was allowed to look at the body,” Sherlock replied sharply, quickly eating. Obviously wanting to get out of the dining room as soon as possible.

“Sherlock thinks that it’s something more than just a murder,” John put in. “Something bigger. That there’s some criminal mastermind behind it.”

“A mystery, huh? Mind if I help?” Lestrade looked so earnest. “It would be a great experience.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not,” John grinned. Lestrade was a good friend so he might as well help.

“No,” Sherlock scowled, shooting John a glare. “I work alone.” With that he got up and stormed off. John groaned. Sherlock had been in such a good mood earlier due to the murder (as disturbing as that was). Ah well, let him grump.

“Sorry about him, you’re welcome to help,” John laughed lightly and without humour. “Welcome to the Sociopath Society.”

“It has a name?” Lestrade chuckled, shaking his head.

“Indeed.”

“I like the name,” Molly put forward, finally deciding to speak. John had almost forgotten that she was there. She was such a quiet creature.

“You do? Sherlock thought of it. He’s the Sociopath and I’m society supposedly.”

“That makes complete and utter sense,” Lestrade confirmed with a smirk.

“Well, I’d better go check that Mr Sociopath is ok,” John smiled as he stood. If he found Sherlock in their room smoking or something sparks were going to fly. “See you guys tomorrow.” With a smile he left.

“Sherlock?” John spoke rather cautiously as he entered their shared room. No reply. He sighed at the sight of Sherlock curled up on his bed, facing the wall grumpily. At least he wasn’t smoking. The nicotine patches seemed to be working for now.

“Fine, be that way,” John snorted. He placed his suitcase on his bed and promptly began to unpack. That done he got to work studying.

Yes, studying. The joys. But it was necessary what with practice exams in a month. Or was it a few weeks? Anyway they were soon.

The massive biology textbook came out firs and soon John’s notes were spread all over the desk. Brow furrowed John delved into learning what he had to.

A rather irritating beeping began to interrupt the much appreciated silence. The space in between this noise was filled by the clicking of phone keys. After about ten minutes John’s concentration broke fully. 

“Sherlock, who are you texting? I’m kind of trying to study!”

“Studying is boring!” Sherlock exclaimed, standing suddenly. “I am texting two people. I have had a short conversation with my brother requesting he looks up the possibilities of who JM could be and what the results of the interrogation were. And I just texted JM himself... oh look, a reply!” Sherlock grinned with the excitement of a small child being given sweets. John frowned slightly. John had just texted the man behind the murder and the thieveries. How was that smart in any way?

“What does it say?” John let curiosity get the better of him, trying not to worry as he turned to face his friend.

“Well I congratulated him on the clever code of his,” Sherlock began while typing a reply. “He replied congratulating me on cracking it before saying ‘the game is nearing its stunning conclusion, Sherlock. Are you ready?’ I don’t really get it.” Now that was a shock to hear him say that. “It has not really been a game. Only one murder and four items stolen.” Sherlock looked thoughtful. “I just replied with a ready for what?” 

“Are you sure this is wise, Sherlock,” John frowned deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, texting a murderer?”

“Wisdom has nothing to do with it, John!” Sherlock was pacing now as he awaited another text. “I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this.”

“Brilliant.” Sarcasm coated John’s voice. “Does that mean you’ll keep me up all night?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Sherlock looked like he was about to die of happiness when his phone buzzed. “The fall, Sherlock. The final problem.” Sherlock frowned as he read the message aloud. “What does that mean?” 

“Don’t look at me,” John threw his hands up. “How would I know?”

Sherlock let out a cry of agitation before collapsing onto his bed. Silence. Thank God. John instantly went back to studying. No matter what Sherlock said it was important. Very important. This peace did not last, unfortunately. A loud rapping on the door was followed by it being open, breaking John’s concentration yet again.

“The police are arresting Sebastian on suspicion for murder!” Lestrade’s unmistakeable voice filled the room. He seemed almost excited and a tad breathless. From running obviously.

“Where?” Sherlock was up instantly. 

“The entrance hall, they took him there. Jim almost had a fit!” 

“This is great! I didn’t expect them to do it so quickly. The police aren’t as big idiots as I thought.”

“Hey, I’m joining the force one day!” Sherlock appeared to ignore him.

“You coming, John?” The self modelled detective was already heading for the door.

“I guess,” John sighed as he stood. He would come to keep Sherlock out of trouble. 

Sherlock was out of the door in a flash and John reluctantly followed.


	20. He Came Up With A Good Idea?

Prelims came and went. Sherlock took next to no notice of them. Because, of course, they were unsurprisingly easy. He would undoubtedly get good marks. Simple enough. There were now the proper exams in a few months to look forward to. Along with the nuisance of being constantly told to study. Sherlock had no need to! He knew it all already. Revision was so dull. Especially when there was a much more exciting task on offer.

“Sally can’t find her ring,” Lestrade walked into Sherlock and John’s room uninvited as he often did now. It was becoming some sort of habit. Since John had let him join the Sociopath Society and help. Ugh, why?

“Strange,” John was scribbling something down on a sheet of paper. “So, suspects? Could be anyone.

“Most definitely,” Lestrade closed the door behind him.

“It couldn’t be anyone!” Sherlock interrupted, rather exasperated. They were so stupid! It was obvious, obvious. “There are two main suspects for the new thieveries. James and Irene. So obvious. Even your tiny brains should be able to work that out!” Sherlock rolled his eyes and lay back on his bed. Eyes narrowing. Thinking. 

“Is it definitely one of them?” Lestrade queried, dark brown eyes fixed on Sherlock. “Because I think that I have an idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” John perked up at that, Sherlock noted. He shouldn’t get excited. The idea would undoubtedly be a stupid one. Stupid ideas from a stupid person.

“Well there is one place were the stolen items are most likely to be kept,” Lestrade began explaining. “Their rooms. Now Sally shares with Irene so I’ll get her to have a look about. For James... I can distract him by asking for help with revision or something and the two of you can sneak into his room. Look around a bit.” Sherlock let shock settle across his features. What Lestrade had suggested was actually a good idea! How about that... very interesting.

“That’s good, Lestrade,” Sherlock stood as he spoke. “Do you think we could do it now?”

“Now? What’s the rush?” Lestrade exclaimed, blinking rapidly. 

“I need to complete this case!” Sherlock was getting agitated. Why couldn’t he just blindly follow through with the plan. No questions asked.

“Fine, I suppose so,” Lestrade sighed softly. “Wait ten minutes to make sure that I’ve got James away.” With a nod to them both he left the room.

“So this could be it, the conclusion to the case?” John put it so poignantly. What he said wasn’t exactly true, though.

“For the perpetrator of the crimes, yes. But I don’t think that this is it. Not until JM turns up. No, I will continue playing in the game even after this.” Sherlock frowned slightly. “No, the thieveries are not the final problem.

“If you say so,” John replied, standing so that he was right in front of Sherlock. “Promise me that you will not risk your life for this? Not end up like Tom.” John raised one hand to touch Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock tried not to look away. He couldn't promise that. Who knew what could happen? Instead he pressed his lips against John’s. Hoping that that would suffice as a ‘promise.’

It was a soft, gently kiss. Slow and comforting. Brief. As they pulled away John broke eye contact to check his watch.

“Wow, that’s been ten minutes,” he gasped. “Let’s go check out James’ room!” The smirk showed that he would enjoy this. Sherlock knew he disliked James. Maybe even hated him with a fiery passion. So a chance to pilfer his room would not go unwanted.

“Yes, let’s go.” Sherlock smiled thinly, pulling on his coat and scarf. He didn’t care that their destination was just a few doors down the corridor. He wanted to wear them so he would. Ignoring the amused looks he got from John he strode out the door and towards James’ room. The door was slightly ajar but no sound could be heard from within. The corridors were empty so it seemed that the coast was clear. Sherlock quickly slipped in, making sure that John closed the door behind them.

“Right you take one side and I’ll take the other,” Sherlock ordered before he began rummaging. He actually now doubted that the items would be in there. After all the last ones had been put in a specific place so they could be found only by deciphering the code. So why would they- oh... Well, that was surprisingly easy.

“John, I think that I’ve found them,” Sherlock announced as he pulled a small box out from under the bed, which he presumed was James’. The lid was open slightly, revealing a silver ring that could only be Sally’s.

“That was quick,” John frowned as he headed over to Sherlock.

“Too quick and too easy,” Sherlock mused, shaking his head.

“I’ll go get Mrs Hudson...” John made his way for the door.

“Wait, John,” Sherlock placed the box on the bed as he spoke. “The story is that I came to ask to borrow some of James’ notes and I noticed the box. I promptly told you and you immediately went to tell Mrs Hudson.” John nodded before swiftly disappearing from sight. Sherlock place himself by the door to wait.

He did not need to wait long. Soon Mrs Hudson had scurried in, exclaiming in shock as she examined the box’s contents. 

“Why is everyone...” The word’s died on James’ lips as he saw Mrs Hudson holding the box. Lestrade had followed him in and there was gleeful triumph shining through his eyes. Sherlock had put on an emotionless mask. Showing nothing.

He was not as pleased as the other two (John and Lestrade) anyway. This still wasn’t over. JM had wanted those items to be found. Obvious. Something sinister was going on. All leading up to one thing. The fall. Sherlock did not like the sound of that one bit.

“You are in a lot of trouble, young man,” Mrs Hudson had rounded on James. “You are coming with me to the headmaster’s office this instance. You too, Sherlock.”

Brilliant. This was going to be a whole load of fun...


	21. Dull As Dull Can Be

After a surprisingly long talk with Mrs Hudson (it wasn’t like she knew anything) the headmaster finally called Sherlock and James in. They were ordered to sit in the two rather uncomfortable chairs facing the desk behind which Mr Hunter sat.

“Mr Brook, Mr Holmes, you both know why you’re here,” his tone was overly stern. Sherlock almost rolled his eyes. But that would have broken his cold mask. “Now, Sherlock, could you please retell how you came to find those items in James’ room.”

“I was going to ask him for some notes, as I seemed to have misplaced my own,” Sherlock lied easily. “He wasn’t there but I noticed the box on his bed. Sally had been complaining about how her ring had gone missing. I noticed that.” Mr Hunter nodded with a frown.

“I hid the box under my bed,” James put in, flashing a smirk in Sherlock’s direction.

“You do not deny that you stole those items?” Mr Hunter narrowed his eyes.

“Oh no, I stole all the items,” James drawled, hazel eyes flashing to look at Sherlock whose fast brain was trying to process what was going on. Trying to work it all out. He really hated the feeling of not knowing. “Why would I not admit to that?” There was a hidden meaning behind his words. There had to be. Mr Hunter nodded slightly, turning his attention to Sherlock.

“Do you wish to explain yourself?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. He really did not want to tell the headmaster all that he had found out. But he would undoubtedly have to.

“Well, James was the main suspect for the new thieveries,” Sherlock began calmly. “You see, these thieveries, the earlier ones and the murder are all interconnected. The first thieveries are a common occurrence over the years and each on make the message I o u a fall. It was quite easy to decipher. From this came another code and message. The final problem alive. This is what led me to find the items in the biology room.” All he and John had gotten from their efforts was a detention. “They were in the exact same room as where Tom was murdered. Now of the five years this was the first time it looked like murder. You see, he was one of the people who had items stolen. The first message was for him. He was being threatened, by a man named JM. He wasn’t the first either. Remember Carl Powers? Murdered. Caitlin Sinclair? Murdered. Now in the murder room there was a message scratched onto the wall. Numbers that fit into the code. I o u a fall showing that they are inexplicably linked.” That wasn’t the full message. It was actually I O U a fall Sherlock. “Now, when more items went missing it was obvious that Sebastian Moran was not JM. Just an assassin, rather. There were two suspects for who was the new culprit. James or Irene Adler. So I went to ask James for some notes, meaning to glance about, but seeing that he wasn’t there I took the opportunity to look around. And thus I found the items.” Which had been planted for a reason, they had to have been. But why? Oh! Obvious, obvious. A clue to who James Moriarty was.

This was easy.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Mr Hunter frowned. “But all I required was that you looked in James’ room. That is very much against school policy. But I will let you off with just a warning this time. Best behaviour until the end of the year or there will be severe consequences. Understand?” Sherlock gave a tight nod. “Good, you are dismissed.

Sherlock paused a moment before standing swiftly and sweeping out of the door. Thoughts flew through his brain. Calculating. Reaching conclusions. He entered his room and promptly collapsed on his bed. Eyes closed, fingers pressed together under his chin. Not saying anything to John, who was studying.

He lay there for quite a while, brow furrowed in concentration. Clue to who JM was... that had to be why the items were so easily found. They were in the room of... Yes! That was it! Obvious, so obvious. Why had he not seen that before? JM. Ha, it was so easy. So what did the M stand for...?

“Sherlock, are you alright? What happened?” Sherlock heard a slight creaking as someone knelt onto his bed. His eyes flickered open to stare into a pair of marvellous deep blue ones. John’s. Sherlock let a light smile flicker across his lips.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock murmured. “Not much happened. I got a warning or whatever for going into James’ room. Anyway, this was another part of the game. A clue to who JM is. James M. What the M stands for...” Sherlock trailed off.

“You don’t know?” John chuckled. “How about you rest that giant brain of yours for a bit?”

“I don’t-” Sherlock didn’t get to finish that sentence. He was cut off by John’s face moving closer to his, their lips merging in a kiss. It felt so good. John was actually sitting on Sherlock as they tongue wrestled, his hands at the sides of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist to pull him closer. The kissing got more passionate as Sherlock let his hands slide under John’s shirt. He broke the kiss to pull it off before returning his lips to John’s. John had tangled one hand into Sherlock’s hair. He let out a low moan as Sherlock began to run his hands up and down his bare chest. Suddenly Sherlock flipped the so he was on top. He pulled away to stare down at the gorgeous body beneath him. This just felt right.

It was perfection. 


	22. Cheat? You're Just Jealous Of My Superior Intellect

“Straight A*s! How did you get bloody straight A*s?!” John exclaimed as he burst into the room. He’d just been to see Lestrade to compare results, finding that the other pupil had got almost all As apart from one B. John himself had gotten straight As, as a result of all his hard work studying. But Sherlock... Ugh, Sherlock... he had to get perfect scores in everything.

“It was simple,” Sherlock shrugged, turning around in his chair to look at John. “That is not the important matter at hand.

“Not important?”John continued to rant. “They’re our bloody-” Sherlock had stood, silencing John by placing a finger on his lips.

“Listen, John,” Sherlock spoke calmly. “James has got off with the thieveries without even a detention. It was him, that much is obvious. He even went as far as admitting it. Yet he went unpunished. In fact, he was rewarded! He got me in trouble yet got in none himself! Something is going on... This is part of the game.”

John frowned. Indeed there was something strange about all this. Sherlock must know something more. He had to. John was sure he did.

“What?” John queried, sitting down with result no longer on his mind.

“I don’t know!” Sherlock’s exasperation was so dramatic that John almost thought he was acting. No... to what end? He must genuinely not know anything.

“Calm down,” John’s was soft as he put a gently hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Squeezed it slightly. Sherlock gave him a shaky smile.

“I need to think,” Sherlock murmured, falling onto his bed. Adopting his trademark thought position. John frowned worriedly before sitting at his desk. Rummaging through the clutter until he found what he wanted. The Game of Thrones, a thick tome that was a novel. John wished he had discovered the series earlier. It was wonderful. John was soon too engrossed in the book to notice what was going on around him. It wasn’t like he needed to...

This allowed Sherlock to sneak in, wrapping his arms around John and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Good book?” The words fluttered into John’s ears, a light breath brushing it. He thought Sherlock was pondering over the recent development. Not that John was complaining.

“Very,” John turned his head to look at Sherlock. A soft smile flickered across his lips. The younger boy looked so... innocent. It was rather strange, in fact. He didn’t normally look like that. He usually hid his emotion. It was the vulnerable moments when John loved him the most.

“I’m not a fan of fantasy,” Sherlock murmured, moving his face closer to John’s. “I prefer more realistic fiction. Or Science fiction. Mysteries are entertaining purely because I can easily guess who it is.”

“A good detective novel never goes amiss,” John laughed warmly. “But I guess I have my own detective now.” The light blush that stained Sherlock’s face was sweet. John enjoyed seeing him getting flustered over compliments. When he was acting all uptight and pompous. Which was really just a mask. To hide his true feelings.

“You certainly do,” Sherlock smiled, small and genuine. John placed his hands on those well defined cheekbones before moving in for a gentle kiss. He smiled against Sherlock’s lips as the other boy relaxed. John turned around in his chair so he was facing Sherlock. The already taller boy was being forced to bend over even further than normal. It was rather amusing for John. But he decided to relieve Sherlock of some of his pain by slowly standing, lowering his hands from the gorgeous cheekbones to around Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock automatically locked his arms around John’s waist, pulling them flush together. The kiss was still slow, though, and rather sweet.

John broke it to stare up into Sherlock’s breathtaking eyes.

“Damn it, you’re so good looking,” John whispered, unable to take his eyes away. There as that blush again. How had he gotten so lucky?

“Nobody’s ever said that before,” Sherlock murmured awkwardly. It was obvious that he had no idea what to say.

“Really?” John arched an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”

The door was suddenly flung open, causing John and Sherlock to jump away from each other. Both turning bright red. But Lestrade hadn’t seemed to notice. He had come with a purpose.

“Sally and Anderson reported Sherlock for cheating.”


	23. How Do You Cheat At A Game When You Don’t Know What You’re Playing?

“Cheating is a very serious accusation, Miss Donovan,” Mr Hunter looked even sterner than normal as his gaze moved over the three in his office. Sally fidgeted slightly, tugging at her dark curly hair. Anderson’s mouth was twisted into a permanent smirk. A sneer towards Sherlock. The accused himself was cold, calm and collected. Meeting Mr Hunter’s gaze without flinching. “Do you wish to tell me what evidence you have for Mr Holmes cheating?”

“I... I don’t really have much,” Sally stammered. “Anderson said he saw writing on Sherlock’s arms. He had long sleeves during the prelims even thought it was a hot day. He never seemed to study and often didn’t turn up to class.” Mr Hunter nodded with narrowed eyes. Sherlock could have cursed at Sally. He always wore a long sleeved shirt for reasons other than _cheating._ He didn’t study or turn up to class because both were boring and he already knew everything. He didn’t know how Anderson had seen writing on his arms since there had never been any. And where had they gotten this idea that he was cheating from? JM. It had to be. He had to have something to do with it. There was no other possibility. He was manipulating their hate and jealousy towards Sherlock.

“Mr Anderson, can you expand?” Mr Hunter had now turned his attention to the smirking boy.

“I went into the boy’s toilets after our biology prelim to see him trying to scrub writing off his arms,” Anderson appeared to lie very easily. Sherlock found the whole thing rather stupid. If he was going to try and scrub off writing on his arms he wouldn’t do it in the bathrooms were he could quite easily be seen by anyone who walked in.

“Thank you Mr Anderson, Miss Donovan. You may go no.” Mr Hunter clasped his hands together and watched Sherlock carefully, waiting for the other two to leave. “Now, I’m in a bit of predicament here, Mr Holmes. Cheating? Now that is a step far. Is there anything you would like to say?”

“I did not cheat,” Sherlock began icily. “I have no need to. It would be the highly illogical route, also. Washing away words written on arms in a highly public area? That would be incredibly stupid.”

“There are two eye witnesses.”

“Technically, one. Wearing long sleeves does not count. And John would vouch for me.”

“I’m sure he would, considering your relationship.” Sherlock blushed as Mr Hunter continued. “Did you not think we would notice? Now, I have a rather hard decision to make. You were in here only one week ago and I warned you not to break a single other rule. There is no exact evidence, but who do I trust? Who would you trust, Mr Holmes?” Sherlock arched an eyebrow.

“Donovan and Anderson,” Sherlock replied eventually. Look at the fact. He had a record for troublemaking and rule breaking. They did not.

“Exactly,” Mr Hunter nodded, sighing. Was he... stressed? “We were you last chance, Sherlock.” What, were they on first name basis now? “And you messed up. I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m going to have to call your parents.” Sherlock paled. Trying not to allow dread to claw up his belly. Ignoring the sickness suddenly roiling in the pit of his stomach. His father was going to kill him. Actually, he was already going to kill him due to Christmas night. Sherlock running away and all. Now he was going to die twice.

But he couldn’t stop it now. Mr Hunter had already walked out of the door to make the call. Sherlock faintly heard the words “hello, Mr Holmes” but nothing more. Now he was alone. With all his thoughts. He wished John was here. John would know how to make him feel better. He always did.

Sherlock would miss John. If he was expelled. Sure they were both about to part ways anyway, going to different universities and all. But Sherlock wasn’t sure that he would survive going home. No, his father would kill him. And mummy and Mycroft would just watch on.

At least he’d get to say goodbye to John. If John wanted to see him again. Didn’t think he was a cheat. Sherlock felt doubt spark in his mind. About how true the friendship between them was.

“He would like to speak to you.” Sherlock’s eyes widened as Mr Hunter re-entered, holding out a phone. Sherlock took it, composing himself before speaking.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sherlock,” came a lazy drawl.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock tried not to let relief enter his voice when he realised that it was Mycroft he was speaking to.

“Never though you would be so pleased to hear me, dear brother.”

“I thought you were Father.”

“I know. Don’t worry; you don’t have to see him again. Not after last time. Mummy and I both think it is best if you don’t return to the house.”

Sherlock could have cried with relief. But he didn’t. That would be letting himself give into emotions he shouldn’t even feel. “Where will I be staying, then? And who will pick me up?”

“Where you stay is up to you depending on what university you go to.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock tried to ignore the slight confusion he felt. “I’m going to be expelled.” There was laughter at the other end of the line.

“You are not. I told that incompetent Headmaster that you are many things but one of them is not a cheat. You are just... Intelligent.”

“Good. So I will be continuing in this wretched place?” He couldn’t bring himself to thank his brother.

“Indeed you will be.”

“Okay. Is that all?”

“No. What did you do, Sherlock?”

“I don’t understand. I thought you didn’t think I was a cheat, which I most certainly am not.” Sherlock frowned slightly.

“Who did you annoy may be a better way to phrase it.”

“I think I irritated Donovan and Anderson on New Year’s Eve.”

“That is not enough to warrant an attempt to ruin someone’s prospects for the future.” What brilliant deduction skills Mycroft had. Because that wasn’t at all obvious.

“I think this is linked into the case. The murder, the thieveries and JM. Oh, do you have any leads on him?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Shame. First name is James. James M. Me being accused as a cheat has something to do with it.”

“Nothing I say will discourage you from pursing this further, will it?”

“Is that concern, Mycroft?” Sherlock laughed lightly. “The Government making you sentimental? It does not suit you. And no, I am seeing this through to the end. Goodbye, Mycroft.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock. Be careful.”


	24. Wrong Accusations

The weeks went by after Sherlock was accused of cheating. People whispered behind his back, rumour spread and dirty looks came his way but soon all that ceased as exams approached. People were concentrating on studying and their results rather than concerning themselves with what the freak did. John's first exam came around. Biology. An especially critical one.

"I think I did pretty well on that exam," John frowned slightly, blue eyes flashing to the tall boy beside him. He looked as calm as ever. Damn, how did he do that?! They'd just come out of an incredibly important exam. If John didn't get an A then he was stuffed when it came to university. But of course his companion was the wonderful Sherlock Holmes. He found things like this easy.

"You'll have done fine," Sherlock smiled slightly, walking slower than normal. In no rush to get back to their room. "You're smarter than most." Wait, did Sherlock just compliment him? Sherlock never offered praise. To anyone. Especially when it involved calling them smart. Then again, John guessed that he hasn't really. He was comparing his intelligence to other people who, in Sherlock's opinion, were all idiots.

"Thanks, I guess," John glanced up at his friend with a bright smile. "You're getting better at being nice."

"I am? I'd better change that," Sherlock chuckled lightly before pausing. "Wait, I need to go to our Chemistry classroom." He glanced at John, eyes asking what he would not put into words.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I have to go study," John shrugged slightly. Sherlock sighed.

"Fine, see you later." Sherlock glanced around to check that no one was in sight before leaning into to quickly peck John on the lips. John blushed slightly, shifting on his feet.

"Yeh. Don't blow anything up."

"I won't!" Sherlock called back as he walked away, his laughter music to John's ears. John smirked slightly before continuing on his way back to his rooms. The door was slightly ajar, which raised suspicions, so he entered quickly.

"What is going on?" Lestrade and Sally were crowded together, chatting rather hurriedly. Why on earth were they in his room?! Without permission. Standing on Sherlock's side of the room. Right beside his coat (which he had not been allowed to wear into the exam).

"Well," Lestrade began with a deep frown, worry creasing his forehead. "I came back to my room to find that my phone was missing. Anderson called it and the ringtone sounded from in here. It was in Sherlock's pocket, John."

"What?!" Shock flashed across John's face. How? Someone had framed Sherlock. That much was obvious and you didn't have to be a genius to work it out. "But Sherlock has been with me the whole day. He is not a thief."

"I'm afraid that's what it looks like, John," Lestrade looked sympathetic. He had grown quite... Fond of Sherlock. Friendly. If that was even possible. "Anderson has already gone to get Mrs Hudson."

"How do we know he didn't steal all the items," Sally sneered, dark eyes narrowed. "Then found them just to make himself feel clever." John gritted his teeth, trying to keep his anger in control.

“That is certainly not the case,” John practically growled, sitting abruptly at his desk. If he stayed on his feet any longer he was going to beat up Sally. He just knew it. First accusing Sherlock of cheating... now suggesting that he had done all the stealing just so he would look good. It disgusted him.

The door open abruptly and John expected Anderson and Mrs Hudson to walk in, the accusations instantly flying. But no, it was worse. Far worse. Anderson, Mrs Hudson and Mr Hunter walked in. Mr Hunter, the headmaster. Oh brilliant. So obviously everyone now believed Sherlock was a thief.

“What happened?” Mr Hunter seemed to be addressing Lestrade.

“I could not find my phone after my exam, Anderson phoned it and we found it in Sherlock’s coat pocket,” Lestrade’s answer was short and concise. Mr Hunter nodded, eyes narrowed.

“Will someone please go and collect Mr Holmes?”

“I’ll go,” John instantly offered, standing again. Still trying to calm himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. At least he could warn Sherlock. Tell him what had happened and all that. So his friend could be prepared.

“I do not think that would be the best idea, Mr Watson,” Mr Hunter spoke rather coldly. John scowled slightly, slumping back into his chair. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

“I will go,” Lestrade offered, heading to the door at Mr Hunter’s nod. Then he was gone to collect Sherlock. He obviously knew were the boy was. Who didn’t? It was obvious. The Chemistry classroom, where he often was in his free time.

A rather tense silence hung over the room. Mrs Hudson left when Mr Hunter whispered something to her. The Headmaster himself stayed standing at the door, eyes folded and face stern. Anderson wore his trademark smirk and Sally appeared to be trying not to smile. Well they had both got what they wanted. John hoped that they were happy. Because no one else was.

Sherlock entered the room before Lestrade, gaze sweeping around the people within. John could tell that his brain was quickly summing up the situation. Working out what had gone on. John just hoped he didn’t say anything stupid. Be... himself. Because that would not help in anyway.

“What did I do?” Sherlock’s voice was so icy that John nearly shivered.

“Mr Lestrade’s phone was found in the pocket of your jacket,” Mr Hunter was facing Sherlock in a scrutinizing manner. John didn’t understand how this was happening. Sherlock had been framed. Couldn’t everyone see that?

“Really? Because I did not steal it. I have been with John all day.” At that John nodded.

“He’s lying!” Sally put in, Anderson sneering. “He can’t deny that he stole it. He was caught red handed with it in his pocket. He probably stole the other items as well. Then found them so he could get all the credit.”

Mr Hunter nodded. “We will continue this discussion in my office. All of you will come.” Why had Mr Hunter came to their room, then, if just to get them all to his office? John was a bit confused. Something wasn’t right here.

“No, I don’t think so. I have no wish to visit your office.” How was Sherlock remaining so calm? John was beginning to panic. “I do not want to talk to the police. Yes, I know about the police. It is quite obvious that you called them and you wish to have me, well all of us, in your office so they can interview us when they arrive. Because what Sally said rings true with your own doubts. You believe that I stole all the items. There’s more. You think that I murdered Tom as well.” John frowned, eyes widening. What?! No, they couldn’t seriously think Sherlock was a murderer. Because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t. Anyway he had been with John the whole time.

“What you say is correct, Mr Holmes,” Mr Hunter replied. “Now, come with me to my office. All of you. And it is not an option but an order. You will come to my office.”

“No, you cannot make me.” Sherlock could be goddamn stubborn when he wanted to. And that side of him was showing now. John shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like this at all. The police? They were coming to interview them all so Sherlock could be accused of thievery. Possibly murder. To what end? Who was behind this? Because someone had to be. And when John found them he was going to beat the crap out of them. Maybe even kill them.

“As you wish,” Mr Hunter seemed to have given up. That was strange. “Mr Anderson, Mr Lestrade, Miss Donovan, come with me. Mr Watson, stay here with Mr Holmes. If either of you leave this room then the consequences will be severe.” With that only John and Sherlock were only left in the room.

How had this all happened so suddenly?


	25. This Is A Dangerous Game We Are Playing

“Don’t disturb me, John, I need to think,” Sherlock kept the cold mask his face had held in front of the audience that had left their room only a few moments before. He slowly lowered himself into the bed and closed his eyes. Mind whirring. Trying to think of how this had happened. Because he had most certainly not stolen Lestrade’s phone. John knew that since the two of them had been together the whole day. Yet Sherlock had the suspicion that the Police would neglect to listen to John’s side of the story. They would jump to press charges against Sherlock.

No, this had been set up. It was part of the game. Leading up to the fall. His fall. Maybe this was it. A metaphorical fall; Sherlock losing everything in his life. Being unable to go to university, losing John, being arrested. Ruining his life. JM was trying to destroy Sherlock. He knew exactly how. Sherlock found it unnerving. And he still didn’t know who JM was! This person always seemed to be one step ahead. Prepared. Sherlock had to start thinking. Winning.

A loud banging on the door interrupted his thought stream. John got up to open it, looking paler than normal. Worried. About him. How sweet, if sentimental.

And it seemed John’s worry was well placed. It was two policemen at the door.

“Sherlock Holmes?” The policeman that spoke did so in a commanding voice. Sherlock stood slowly, turning his icy gaze on the officers.

“Have you come to arrest me?” Sherlock’s words were well calculated without a drop of humour. He had moved to stand beside John, who looked like he was really resisting the urge to say anything.

“We have come to bring you in for questioning, Mr Holmes, on the thieveries in this school and the murder of Tom August.”

“I do not wish to come for questioning.” Sherlock glanced down at John. The blond was beginning to fidget a bit, hands clenching and unclenching. Sherlock put a comforting hand on his shoulder. As if to say that it would all be alright. It wouldn’t be, but he needed John to stay calm.

“If you do not come quietly we will be forced to arrest you.”

“You can’t arrest him! He hasn’t done of those things! I know because I was with him the whole time!” John suddenly blurted out, indignation clearly running through his voice. Ah, ever protective John. Sherlock loved him for it. But it wasn’t what was needed.

“You may give a testimony at the questioning,” the policeman was speaking in a rather dull, monotonous tone.

“You still shouldn’t be arresting him! You have no true proof that he did any of it!”

“John,” Sherlock murmured.

“No, Sherlock, this isn’t right.”

“John, just leave it. I can handle it myself,” Sherlock fixed John with a pleading stare. John sighed, taking a step back. Trying to calm himself down. “I will not go with you, officers. I have no wish to be questioned for crimes I did not commit. Maybe if you call-” Sherlock didn’t get to go any further because one of the police officers grabbed him and pulled him out of the door.

“Do not struggle or we will be forced to handcuff you.” Now this was a new development. Sherlock hadn’t expected that. He had hoped to get out of this without any questioning involved to prove his obvious innocence.

That was what JM wanted, wasn’t it. Sherlock to be questioned. For some piece of evidence to come up to show that he was the murderer and the thief. His innocence wouldn’t be proven. And even if he got out of a prison sentence (which he could... with a little help) it would have completely ruined any future career he may have. In the course of it he would also lose those he now counted as friends as they realised he was really the psychopath he claimed not to be. Lestrade, Molly... John. He would lose them all.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s necessary! I’m sure Sherlock will go along willingly now.” John’s deep blue eyes begged Sherlock to do just that. Oh, poor John. He did not understand what was truly going on. He did not know. And how could he?

“Stay out of this, John,” Sherlock sort of ordered. He glanced at the man that was holding him. Mid thirties. Hated his job but didn’t have the qualifications to get another one. Unhappy marriage. Not the most physical fit either. His grip on Sherlock was rather lax.

An elbow to the stomach was enough to loosen it. Then Sherlock was off before they had a chance to react. He burst out the fire exit door, shooting across the grounds. Not needing a light to know where he was going. The darkness aided him here. Hid him. He ignored the shouts from behind him, knowing full well they couldn’t make out exactly where he was. He had a location in mind.

The forest clearing. It was well hidden and few people knew of it. They wouldn’t think to look there. Most normal people running from the police and school would head to the local town. Try to get out of the area on a bus or train. But not Sherlock. He had things to sort out. He wasn’t finished here. No he was far from finished here.

Reaching the clearing Sherlock stopped, panting a bit. He needed to be better hidden. Just in case people came through here. There was only one place to go. Up a tree. It took Sherlock a few minutes to pick out one, a sturdy oak with loads of thick branch, and a bit longer to actually get up it. But he found a comfortable position quite high in the branches and sat down. Not really worried about falling off. He’d be fine.

Here he could think. That was all he really could do. He had worked out what the game was. Ruining Sherlock’s life. But what was the fall? He thought he had an idea... but he didn’t really like it. And he could be wrong. JM was still ahead of him. He had set it up, knowing how Sherlock reacted. Guessing his moves. Setting traps. For Sherlock to catch up he had to work out who JM was. Second guess him. Go against all that was planned.

James... James... James Moran? No. That was the obvious one, combining the two perpetrators, but there was no James Moran in his life. Sherlock had already thought of that anyway and Mycroft hadn’t found a James Moran. So that was out. James M. That was all he had.

Unless... Yes. That could be it. He went by a different name. James M was his true name but he had a cover one. That made it obvious who it was. It all made sense. What the M stood for didn’t matter. Because Sherlock knew who JM was. And he knew what he had to do.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile, glad he had had the foresight to put it into his trouser pocket. Then he called someone he never thought he would out of his own free will. Mycroft.


	26. You Can't Be Serious

They were looking through Sherlock’s stuff. The bloody policemen were looking through Sherlock’s stuff. John had thought when they left last night to chase after Sherlock that they would never come back. He certainly didn’t want to say another policeman ever again in his life. Not after what happened yesterday. They were going to arrest Sherlock! He hadn’t even done anything! John knew because he had been with Sherlock the whole time.

Now he was being forced to study with these people making a complete and utter racket. It was quite hard to retain the various Chemistry facts with all the noise. The current situation didn’t help. The fact that his mind kept wandering. He was worried. Very worried. About Sherlock, where he was. What he was doing. How was he going to get food or sleep safely? He could have been murdered for all John knew. No, this definitely was not the best studying atmosphere.

And they were still here. The two policemen were still here. Gathered around Sherlock’s suitcase. Oh God. What had they found? If it was the nicotine patches... But those weren’t exactly illegal substances or something. No, they weren’t. He didn’t even know that the policemen were looking for. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Because if someone had planted Lestrade’s phone in Sherlock’s pocket who knew what else there could be?

That was another constant reminder. Sherlock’s coat and scarf still hung over his chair. Left in his rush to flee. Sherlock never went anywhere without them. Not until now. Not when the circumstances called for it. John felt hate rush through him. Hate directed at Sally and Anderson. They were at fault here. They had caused this. If Sally had kept her big mouth shut instead of accusing Sherlock of stealing all the items.

“Did you know that your roommate was in possession of these?” John turned to face the policeman, annoyed at the interruption to his attempts at revising. Shock suddenly shot through his mind at what was in the policeman’s hand. A clear bag filled with a white powder. And a needle in a plastic packet. Oh God. Sherlock hadn’t... no. In the entire time they had been together he hadn’t taken drugs. He hadn’t even smoked since Christmas. He had once done drugs, that was beyond doubt. But not recently.

“No,” John replied sharply. “But he did not use them nor did he have any chance to get them. They aren’t his.”

“I’m afraid the facts contradict that, son.” John stiffened. The policeman had no right to call him son. He was performing an investigation that was about to ruin John’s best friend’s, no boyfriend’s, life.

John said nothing in reply to that, turning back to his revision coldly.

“I also found these.” That was the other policeman speaking. John turned his head discretely to see. Sheets of paper. They were fussing over bits of... Oh. They were the exam papers. How had they ended up in Sherlock’s suitcase? Actually, John didn’t want to know. He really didn’t want to know.

John only left his room a few times the rest of the day. For lunch and for dinner. That was it. He refused to speak to Lestrade when he popped by, claiming he was revising. When he was sure that nobody else was going to enter his room he put down his pen and headed for his bed. Lying down he pulled out his mobile.

_Where r u? –JW_

He quickly sent the message to Sherlock, frowning slightly. Staring at the phone screen until it lit up with the announcement of a message.

_Guess –SH_

_This isn’t funny. Tell me –JW_

John glared at his phone, as if his glare would get through to Sherlock. At least the other boy was safe. At least he assumed so.

_The clearing –SH_

The clearing! Why hadn’t John thought of that? He hopped up, grabbing his coat as he typed a reply.

_Need anything? –JW_

_Yes. My coat and my coat. –SH_

_Food? –JW_

_No –SH_

John frowned. He didn’t care if Sherlock said he didn’t need any food. He would bring some anyway. John grabbed an apple and a packet of biscuits he had planned to eat for snack but never did, stuffing them in his pockets. He also picked up his half full water bottle before collecting Sherlock’s jacket and scarf. All set.

John opened his door slowly, peering out. Making sure there was no one about before he crept down the corridor then slipped out the fire exit. John swiftly made his way towards the clearing. Glad that the sun had not yet crept behind the horizon. Because then he would have had no idea how to get to the clearing.

He reached it to find that it was empty. Strange. Very strange.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” He shouted, spinning around. Worried. He heard a thump and spun around to see Sherlock walking away from a tree towards John. He’d obviously been up it. Weirder things had happened.

“John,” Sherlock smiled. He looked reasonably pleased to see John. Which was good. Or maybe it was just his jacket and scarf he was glad to see. Sherlock grabbed these off John, pulling them both on. Then he rummaged in his coat’s pocket before pulling out a packet of nicotine patches. He rolled up his sleeves to slap on three patches. He let out a sigh of relief.

“I thought that you’d never come,” he commented, watching John carefully. John just rolled his eyes, handing Sherlock the food and water bottle.

“In case you get hungry or thirsty.”

“I won’t.”

“You never know. You could be here for a while.” John frowned. “They found drugs in your suitcase. And the exam papers. You weren’t... were you?”

“No, of course not,” Sherlock snorted, looking almost disgusted that John would suggest it. “That’s exactly what JM wants. Everyone to believe that I’m a cheat, thief, murderer and that I take drugs. Everyone is so easy to manipulate. You’re beginning to doubt me, aren’t you? You think I did all that.” Sherlock’s tone went from calm to aggressive in the space of a few seconds. John took a step back, shaking his head frantically.

“No. No I am definitely not. I don’t believe any of it. Someone planted those in our room.”

“At least someone sees sense,” Sherlock breathed out heavily through his nose. “JM. It was JM.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain. But how can I stop this? There must be a way!”

“Anything I can do to help?” John tried to sound earnest. He truly wanted to help. He just didn’t know how to.

“Yes...” Sherlock suddenly looked vulnerable. He changed so quickly. “Help me forget, John. Even if it’s only for a while.” John smiled softly.

“I will.” Then he crashed his lips against Sherlock’s.


	27. The Final Placing Of Pieces

If Sherlock remember correctly, today was the last day of exams. It had been just over two weeks since the first day. Since he had had to run from the school. Came to stay in the forest clearing. His days had been taking up with thinking, formulating plans. A few phone calls and texts. And the night visits from John. Those were what Sherlock always looked forward to. A break from all the thinking, the stress. It let his brain just chill for a moment. Stopped it from speaking.

Now he had one final thing to do. Before tomorrow. Tomorrow, the day when it would all happen. When the game would end. Sherlock sure hoped he had played his pieces right. Because if not... well, he didn’t want to dwell on that.

It had taken a quick text conversation with John to find out what he wanted. Where Molly would be that morning. It was good that she didn’t have any exams, being the year below them all, or Sherlock would have been stuffed. Even luckier that she had a free period. Not that Sherlock had known this beforehand or anything...

Sherlock quite easily slipped into the school unseen. Everyone was either in lessons, taking exams or doing work during free periods. Even the teachers weren’t out and about. Anyone that was was very easy to avoid. People were so simple. It didn’t take any brainpower to guess what they were doing.

There she was. Exactly were John had said she was going to be. In the biology lab, at a microscope. Probably doing extra work for Biology. Sherlock didn’t care. He really couldn’t care less about what she was doing.

“Molly,” he whisper hissed, edging over to stand next to the brunette.

“Oh, Sherlock, aren’t you, I thought,” Molly stammered, blinking rather rapidly as she looked up at him. Sherlock tried not to sigh. This was going to be harder than he thought. “Em, do you want anything?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied quite bluntly. “I was talking to John... I hear you’re quite well liked around the school. With both teachers and pupils.”

“Y... yes, I suppose I am,” Molly murmured. “Why does that matter?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, mustering quite a lot of courage to speak just four words. “I need your help.” Molly nodded, closing the door so no one would walk in. Then they talked.

“Be careful, Sherlock,” Molly’s voice was quiet, but reasonably confident as the tall boy walked towards the door.

“I’ll try,” Sherlock promised, though he wasn’t really sure why. That would be hard to do if what he thought was going to happen actually happened. And he never promised anybody anything. Ever. He left before Molly could say anything else. He could feel her gaze on his back as he left. Felt guilty. Because she knew what he was going to do, knew how he felt. She had somehow guessed his emotions while they spoke. Sherlock found it unnerving. Normally he was so good at hiding them. He would have to be tonight. When he was with John. Because he couldn’t tell him anything. Not, he couldn’t tell him a single thing.

Sherlock shook his head slightly to get away those thoughts. He had to think. Make sure everything was ready. Back to the forest clearing then. Sherlock had grown attached to the area. It was very peaceful. Very few sounds to interrupt his flow of thought. These were what Sherlock let himself get lost in as he sat at the base of the tree. It was early afternoon when he decided to do something else. 

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and pulled up a recent message he had. From JM.

 _You ready? –JM_ was what it read. Sherlock was finally ready to reply.

_Yes, I’m ready –SH_

_When? –JM_

_Tomorrow –SH_

_Details? –JM_

_Tomorrow –SH_

_Are you scared, Sherlock? Because falling is just like flying except the destination is more permanent. –JM_

Sherlock shuddered slightly at those words. It really backed up what he feared. What was going to happen. What the fall was. He suddenly felt doubt creep into his. Mind. Doubt that he wasn’t well enough prepared. That his plan wouldn’t work out.

No, he couldn’t think of that. He needed a distraction. Soon. Sherlock frowned as he stuffed his phone into his pocket and set off. It must be late afternoon now. The halls would be swarming with students. Most would have just finished an exam. Hopefully no one would be outside. A damp smell filled the air and dark clouds loomed, suggesting rain. That should put anyone off. Let Sherlock get to the building unseen, at least.

He knew how to get in. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? The room windows weren’t locked and they would be easy enough to open from the outside. Sherlock smirked as he found the one he wanted. Carefully he opened it and managed to squeeze himself through. Shutting it behind him.

The place had changed since he had been there. His desk... was cleared of all stuff. Actually, his side of the room was tidy. It was strange. John’s desk was still covered in clutter. He’d obviously been cramming in some last minute revision last night. Before his final exam. Sherlock felt a smile tug the corner of his lips. He hoped John came soon. He’d just have to wait and hope no one else walked in.


	28. Love, It Truly Is A Strange Thing

Finally, exams were over. John let out a sigh of relief as he left the main hall, hands stuffed in his pockets. That last one had been long and tough. His English exam.

“Well that was fun,” Lestrade commented as he came out behind John. He had been doing his Modern Studies exam at the same time as John did his English one.

“Hard exam?” John questioned as they slowly made their way towards their rooms.

“Very.”

“Mine too. But at least they’re over.” John smiled slightly. Then school would make way for the summer holidays. John was hoping to have Sherlock over during them. If he had cleared his name by then. John was sure that would happen soon. After all, Sherlock did have an older brother in the Government. Even if it was a minor position. John was beginning to come to terms with him and Sherlock not seeing each other so much. Only the evenings. John guessed it was good. Almost a transition before university. Sherlock would undoubtedly go to Oxford or Cambridge whereas John was going to the University of London. They would keep in touch, though. John hoped.

John still refused to talk to Sally and Anderson. Then again they didn’t really talk to him. No when he had been friends with Sherlock (well, he still was). But he spoke with Lestrade and Molly quite a lot now. Lestrade was sorry about what had happened. He hadn’t expected it to escalate so quickly and didn’t think Sherlock was a murderer, at least. John understood. He hadn’t expected the events that happened to happen. But they did. So he coped.

“Yes, finally, freedom!” Lestrade grinned. “Promise you’ll keep in touch when we go to uni. You’re doing medicine, right? Doctor John Watson has a ring to it.” He chuckled lightly, John laughing with him.

“As does Detective Inspector Lestrade,” John shot back with a merry smile.

“Aye, it does,” Lestrade grinned at him. “Well, see you tomorrow.” He smiled. Both of them had had rather long early exams, meaning that they had to have dinner in between them.

“Yeh, tomorrow,” John replied as Lestrade went into his room. John went to his own, pushing open the door with a sigh. It felt so empty without- Sherlock!

“Sherlock!”John hadn’t expected to see the tall boy sitting at the desk that had once been his, staring at the door intently. Waiting, obviously. For him. How strange. Out of pattern. Normally John was the one that did the visiting.

“John,” Sherlock offered him a smile before grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the room. Towards his bed. “I’ve missed you.”

“Really? Because it’s only been a day, Sher,” John chuckled as Sherlock pushed him onto the bed.

“Yes, really,” Sherlock retorted, grabbing one of the chairs and putting it against the door. To stop people from getting in. Probably a necessary precaution. Didn’t want anyone finding Sherlock here. Or they’d both be in a whole lot of trouble.

John was rather shocked at the hunger with which Sherlock kissed him. Their lips moved together so passionately, so perfectly. It allowed John just to forget. To pretend that there was nothing else going on in the world. Sherlock was his world. God, how had he not realised it before. Sherlock was his world. Without Sherlock he was nothing. Nothing at all.

This kiss, a single kiss, it sparked all these emotions in John. Made his mind fuzzy, confused. It seemed people were right when they said that love was a drug. He found himself greedily tangling his tongue with Sherlock’s, moaning into his mouth. God he wanted more. So much more.

John hadn’t noticed that while they were kissing their positions had changed. John was no longer sitting on the bed but rather in Sherlock’s lap, facing the raven haired boy. John’s legs were wrapped around his waist and his hands were around Sherlock’s neck.

They pulled away momentarily to stare at each other. Both breathing rather heavily. John slowly began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt, the purple one that made him look even sexier than normal. If that was even possible. John wasn’t sure it was. He stared at Sherlock’s pale chest, trying to calm himself down. How had he gotten so lucky? Sherlock was just... perfect.

Once he had pulled off Sherlock’s shirt he allowed Sherlock to do the same for him. John let out a slight moan as Sherlock began to run his hands up and down John’s back, moving them round to the front to touch his muscles. Then their lips collided again. John felt complete when he was with Sherlock. Complete like he never had before.

Then they stopped kissing. He wasn’t sure why. Sherlock suddenly flipped John round so he was lying on the bed. Sherlock staying sitting, on John in fact, staring down at him. John felt a slight smile flicker across his lips as Sherlock’s eyes roamed down his body. Then their eyes once again gazed into each other.

“I know how to bring down JM,” Sherlock spoke quietly, with a light smile. “It’s all sorted. I know what he wants and I know how to end the game.”

“Good,” John whispered. “Please tell me... It doesn’t involve you getting hurt does it? John felt concern shoot through him as Sherlock hesitated before answering. Please let that answer be no, please.

“No, I’ll be fine.” That was a relief. John sighed slightly, arms loosely wrapping around Sherlock’s neck.

“Do you need my help? With anything?”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “After this it will all be fine... We’ll go to university and the game with be over.” John tilted his head. It looked like Sherlock was trying to convince himself. John didn’t really like that. Wasn’t he sure about what was going to happen? He had to be. He was Sherlock Holmes after all. Genius and soon to be the only consulting detective in the world.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sherlock moved in to kiss him, stretching out to lie on John. John let his eyes closed as their lips moved. Perfection. He wanted no one else but Sherlock. Sherlock was his life.


	29. Permanent Destination

Sherlock’s eyes flickered open as the first rays of light filtered through the window. Seemed like they’d forgotten to close the curtains. It took a moment for his brain to register what the weight lying on him was. John. Sherlock smiled slightly, realising that his arms were wrapped around the other boy and their legs were tangled. He just let the peace of the moment flow through him. Once again closing his eyes.

Then it hit him. Today was the day. When he would put his plan into play. Who knew how it would turn out? Sherlock hoped he had planned well enough ahead. Or things could go seriously wrong.

“Morning,” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear as the blond yawned, stretching out slightly. Sherlock tried to push the terrible thoughts away as John sat up, smiling down at Sherlock.

“Morning, Sher,” John bent back down to kiss Sherlock lightly on the lips. Sherlock smiled back at him, colourful eyes watching John carefully.

“Ready for sports day?” Sherlock teased, smile becoming a smirk as John groaned.

“Can’t I just stay in bed with you all day?”

“I would love that too but you have events to win. And they would come looking for you. We can’t have that.” John frowned, nodding.

“No, we can’t.” Considering that the police were still looking for Sherlock. Which was a bit of a pain, to be honest.

Sherlock just lay there, watching John as he got up and got changed. Wow he looked good in sports shorts and a rather tight sport’s shirt.

“Well, I’ve got to go to breakfast,” John sighed, heading for the door. “Then sport’s day. See you later, kay?”

“Yeh,” Sherlock smiled, one that did not quite reach his eyes. Then John was gone. Sherlock lay in bed a bit longer, having all the time in the world. He wouldn’t set his plan into motion until much later. Mid afternoon to be precise.

Eventually Sherlock did get up, dressing in a purple shirt and black trousers. The rest of the day was spent in boredom. Pacing. Thinking. Playing with a blue rubber ball. Impatiently waiting. Then it came. Sherlock quickly pulled out his mobile and sent off a text to JM.

_Meet me on the roof as soon as possible –SH_

The reply came almost instantly.

_I will be there –JM_

Sherlock smiled slightly before standing. Pulling on his coat and scarf. Breathing in the smells of John still weaved into the blue fabric. Quickly making sure that he had everything he needed in his pockets. Then he headed out. Weaved through the corridors, up the stairs. He had discovered the route to the roof the day before. It was simple enough to find. In an empty corridor there was a trap door with stairs that could be pulled down. The door to the roof. Sherlock swiftly went up these, closing them behind him.

Music instantly bombarded him.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive.” Sherlock arched an eyebrow, colourful eyes flickering to the lone figure sitting at one side of the roof. Yes. He had been right about who James M had been. The boy looked up, hazel eye’s meeting Sherlock’s. A grin much like that of a wolf crossed his face and he shut off the song.

“Sherlock!” He stood, greeting him like they were old friends. Maybe they were. “Like the song? Staying Alive. The final problem, our final problem. So boring, isn’t it! Just... staying.” Sherlock watched him carefully, moving a bit closer. “It’s so boring! I needed distractions. You were the best distraction, Sherlock. But you’re just normal. Like all the rest of them. You worked out who I was, didn’t you?”

“James Brook,” Sherlock’s mouth was a thin line. “Your actual name. Your human name. I did a bit of background research.”

“Did you?” James arched an eyebrow. “That’s in the past, when I thought I was normal. Boring. I’m not James Brook anymore. No, James Moriarty. That’s who I am now.” Sherlock frowned slightly.

“James Moriarty. JM,” Sherlock intoned.

“Well done, normal Sherlock!” James cried, standing. He was mad. He really was mad. Sherlock should have known. “Did you enjoy my game? The little notes left. The code left over the years. Waiting for someone smart, like me. Turns out you’re not like me. No, you’re normal. You’re just normal. You worked it all out but you couldn’t win the game. A shame. It kept me entertained, though.”

“You’re mad,” Sherlock found himself saying. Was that really all he could come up with? In the face of James Moriarty, his nemesis. Someone so different yet so similar to him. They were the same, really. Even if Moriarty himself didn’t believe it.

“You just worked that out now? My, my, Sherlock, you’re more normal than I thought,” James had paced over to stand in front of Sherlock. “Are you ready? For the final act!”

Sherlock paused a moment. “My death.”

“Well, you certainly catch on quickly. Nice of you to choose here as our location!” James swept his arms out wide. Indeed, the school building was quite tall. Very nice... High enough for someone to jump off it. And die. “Well go on. Jump. For me.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to keep them emotionless. “Pleeaassee!” His voice was high pitched, almost whiny. Sherlock suddenly grabbed Moriarty by his jacket and pulled him so he was hanging of the edge. If Sherlock let go he would fall. Sherlock was breathing heavily, trying to keep himself calm. Push away the anger. The anger at Moriarty for trying to make him do this.

“Whoa, whoa, careful,” Moriarty held his hands out with a thin smile. “Let’s give you some incentive. Everyone close to you, everyone you love and you’re friendly with, their lives will be ruined. They might as well be dead.”

“John,” Sherlock breathed out, pulling Moriarty back onto the building. Memories from the night before flooded back to him. No...

“Yes, Johnny boy! But not only him.”

Sherlock wracked his brains. Did he have any other friends? Did he really? “Lestrade?”

“Yes, well done. What was that little secret club of yours called? The Sociopath Society? Very nice. Now, if you don’t jump their lives will be ruined. I have my little spiders ready to scurry on to the Headmaster or the police that are still here and spread nasty rumour about them. I can set them up just as well as I set you up. John Watson, accomplice of psychopathic murderer Sherlock Holmes. How does that sound? And nothing can stop it. Nothing but your body hitting the ground.” Sherlock was really struggling to stay calm. “Now, I’ll leave you to your own thoughts. It was nice playing while it lasted, normal Sherlock!”

Panic began to dance through Sherlock. He paced a bit, thinking. Trying to find some way out of this. None came to mind. For once his abnormally large brain couldn’t come up with something. Nothing at all. It looked like there was only one way out of this. Of this roof. That way was down. Sherlock slowly walked across the roof, so he faced the car park at the back of the school, the playing fields and athletics area just beyond that. Where everyone was. He slowly stepped up onto the slightly raised area just before the sheer drop.

Sherlock glanced over the edge. Took a step closer. Fear shot through him. He had prepared himself for this moment yet he wasn’t ready. Never would be.

Sports day seemed to have finished. People were moving over to the school. It was like any normal day. John was among them. Sherlock found him in the masses. Watched him. Where he was heading. There as one more thing Sherlock had to do.

Raising the phone to his ear he waited for a reply.

“Hello?”

“John.” Sherlock found it hard to keep his voice steady. Keep the emotions out of it.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” Okay? Of course he wasn’t... he was... no he wouldn’t think about that. Not yet.

“Turn around and walk back the way you came.”

“No, I’m going to come in. You’re still in our room, right?”

“Just... do as I ask. Please.” He never said please. Not normally.

“Where?” John had changed his course, heading back to the car park at the back of the school. Weaving his way through the thinning crowd.

“Stop there.” Sherlock spoke when John was directly in front of him. He was trying to stay calm. To not cry. Scream about the unfairness of it all. Find Moriarty and beg for his life. No, he couldn’t. He had to stop these feelings from running rampart through his mind.

“Sherlock.”

“Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.” This was necessary. Sherlock convinced himself that it was necessary. To save John’s future.

“Oh my God.” John was clearly shocked. Worried.

“I can’t come down, so we’ll have to do it like this.” Sherlock felt like he was choking. On guilt. Fear. Emotion.

“What’s going on?” John was looking up in disbelief. He knew what was going on, Sherlock could tell. He just didn’t want to believe it.

“An apology. It’s all true.” A lie. A necessary lie.

“What?”

“Everything they said about me. The teachers, the police, James, everybody. It was all true. I invented JM, James Moriarty.” Sherlock watched John carefully, seeing the panicked look in his deep blue eyes. Sherlock felt some kind of liquid form in the corner of his own, slowly sliding down his cheek. Tears. His body was betraying him, it seemed. Or maybe... He really did feel grief.

“Why are you saying this?” Desperation. Desperation filled Sherlock’s ear.

“I’m a fake, a cheat, a drug addict.”

“Sherlock.” It was as if John thought saying his name would stop this. It wouldn’t. Sherlock had no choice. John would do the same, for him.

“They were right all along. I cheated and I took drugs. I stole those items and I had a hand in Tom’s death. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Molly.” He almost mentioned his family, his brother. But he couldn’t. “In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created JM, Moriarty, for my own purposes.” His voice cracked, the tears now streaming down his face.

“Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up.” Sherlock could see, hear, John losing it. “The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew I had a sister from my clothes, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.” Lies, lies, all lies. He hoped John would forgive him one day.

“You could.” John’s dedication, his belief in Sherlock, was heart warming. But it did nothing to push away the fear Sherlock felt, though he wished he didn’t. The pain shooting through the heart he never knew he had.

“I asked around. Before we met I discovered everything from our classmates to impress you. It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”

“No. Alright, stop it now.” Sherlock wished he could. Wished he could change everything. That he had won the game. Then maybe he would have walked away from this...

“No, stay exactly where you are! Don’t move.” Sherlock began to panic slightly when John made for the school.

“Alright.”

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?” John’s beautiful eyes were the last thing Sherlock wanted to see. He reached out for him, for John’s outstretched arm, as if they could touch. But they could not.

“Do what?” John was still in denial. He knew what was going on. He was smart enough to work it out.

“This phone call... It’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.” Sherlock hoped he was right. About notes.

“Leave a note when?” Oh John. Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily, trying to stop the flow of tears that he had not cried in over ten years.

“I’m... I’m sorry. I love you, John. Goodbye.” Sherlock terminate the call before he got a reply. Before he changed his mind. Reconsidered.

Sherlock let the phone fall from his hand. Took a slight step forward. Then another. Took a deep breath. Ignored John’s cries, shouts. His eyes fixed on him. For stability. To be their last sight. Eyelids blinked shut. Another step.

Then he was falling.

_John..._


	30. I Can Never Forget, I Can Never Forgive

A person lay on the ground. Limbs splayed in awkward positions. Eyes, unseeing. Face... so white. Like a ghost, a sheet. Unnatural, the face shouldn’t look like that. Blood streaked the skin, leaking out along the tarmac. Staining the blue striped scarf and black coat. Drying into a brown crust of jet black curls.

Someone was standing over the body. A shadow. Impossible to make out any of its features, who it is. There is a certain sadness to it and a certain similarity. It bends down to corpse, touching it. Then only the shadow remains. Slowly it rises. Its head looks up from the ground. Eyes pierce into all those that are watching. Eyes of so many colours they are impossible to count. Dead eyes.

Then falling...

John woke with a start, in cold sweat. His breathing was coming out in short gasps and he tried to calm himself down. Tried not to think about it. Tried not to remember all that had happened a week ago. At the school. Tried not to remember... Sherlock.

A sharp stab of pain shot through his chest. His heart. He felt like it was being ripped out all over again. Every night it grew back just to be destroyed. By the nightmares that continually plagued him. He could not even think His name without it all coming back. The tears were already welling in his eyes. The grief swarming his mind. He would have thought that after a week he would no longer be able to cry. He would just become numb. Unable to feel anything.

There was no point in going back to sleep now. John was beginning to feel the effects of consistently being unable to sleep, yet it did not aid his plight. He barely ate or talked to anyone, always feeling exhausted. Physically or mentally. He wished he could escape the world. There was no world without... Him. Sometimes he contemplated it. Thought about taking one of his dad’s pistols and just ending it. But he didn’t. Because something told John that that wasn’t what He would have wanted. He would have wanted John to continue.

But John found it so hard. The last time he had had any contact with anyone outside his family had been at the funeral. Lestrade and Molly had been there also, having become His friend. Apart from that there was Mycroft, a woman John assumed was His mother and a few other relatives. Not very many people. John had had to hide his tears. Didn’t want to cry in front of such an emotionless audience. They didn’t seem to care. Didn’t seem to care that someone they were related to had died. Had committed suicide.

John only did the bare minimum to survive. He knew his mum was worried, his dad was worried and hell, even Harry was worried. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of the depression. Mum had signed him up to see a therapist. John wasn’t looking forward to that. Even the prospect of going to university no longer seemed great. Not without Him. Knowing He was gone from the world.

Molly and Lestrade had texted John a few times. John hadn’t replied. Not yet. He couldn’t bring himself to face the human contact involved. Even if it was just words on a screen.

Another thing John avoided was the news. He had made a mistake of reading a local newspaper the day after. The headline had read ‘Psychopathic drug taking teenager commits suicide.’ There were others like it. It increased John’s grief and instilled anger into him. Because no matter what He had said at the end, during that final phone call, John wouldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe that he was a fake. A drug addict, a thief, a murderer. He didn’t believe any of it. Because JM, James Moriarty, he had set it all up. He existed. He had to exist. John knew he existed and that He had taken his life for a reason. For a purpose. John just wasn’t sure what. And he wished it hadn’t happened. Wished he could have done something to stop it.

Eventually light filtered through John’s windows, though the new day didn’t bring him any new hope. It would just be like any other. He would get by it before attempting to escape into the realm of sleep only to be haunted of nightmares. They always ended the same way. With falling. There were quite a few different scenarios. Sometimes it was just a memory, watching him fall from the building. Sometimes it was John that was falling. Sometimes John was falling with Him.

And sometimes... John was the one that pushed Him off. Watched from the top of the building as he collided with the ground.

But they were all so painful. John could barely remember what it was like to not have a continually ache. A dull, mental ache. John had loved Him. Had loved Him with all of his heart. He didn’t think he would ever love anyone else. That he had the capacity to. John had planned to spend his entire life with Him. Now that wasn’t possible. Had been ruined by a single, fatal blow.

Things could have been so different. They should have been so different. John guessed he shouldn’t dwell on that. He should think about the future. But it was so hard! He had never imagined a future without Him.

“John! Get out of bed and come and get breakfast! Also, you have a visitor.” John sighed, slowly standing. He had been sitting on the bed, knees drawn against his chest and head lying on them. He wondered who the visitor was. Probably Lestrade. Or maybe Molly. Both had his address and had been trying to contact him since... the fall. John didn’t want to go down and face whoever it was. Didn’t want to face them. But he had to.

He would just have to move on. Forgive and forget. As if it had never happened...

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued... In the Struggling Sociopath.


End file.
